Beyond the Barricade
by CRMediaGal
Summary: How does one move beyond death, destruction, and unrequited love? After the fall of the barricades in June 1832, Enjolras and Éponine find themselves having to answer that very question in a still revolutionary, chaotic world. E/É, AU, Show/Movie-based.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, readers! This is my first writing foray into this ship/fandom, so I beg your patience with me throughout this process. My French is extremely rusty, as is my French history. This story follows the movie/show version of _Les Mis___****é**rables and not Victor Hugo's novel. Therefore, literary references will be scarce, and some established elements/relationships will be changed altogether. I think it's worth noting, too, that my Enjolras and É**ponine are based off of Aaron Tveit's and Samantha Barks's stellar performances from the film, as are any other familiar characters you'll encounter. ********This story is an experiment, but one I sincerely hope that readers of this fandom will enjoy.**

**To my familiar (SSHG!) readers, I'm working on new material, I promise. Please see my Profile. ;) And feel free to follow along, if you'd like****. **

**__****_Reviews are welcomed and appreciated! Without your thoughts, it isn't worth sharing._**_****__  
_

**Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

******The a****rtwork accompanying this story comes courtesy of shriveledwankclaw.** Many thanks for the beautiful banner!  


* * *

_**Beyond the Barricade**_

**By CRMediaGal**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_**"One more day all on my own..."  
-Les Misérables**_

* * *

A shadow of a figure, dressed in a tattered skirt and fleece with a shall wrapped around her tiny frame, walked the slow progression down a narrow Parisian alleyway, one that reeked of piss poured haphazardly from the apartments above, without care or thought to whom they unwantingly hit on the way down. Dirt and grime covered her bare feet as she made her way through the dark, against deserted cobblestone, pervading the evening breeze that whispered to her to turn around and return from whence she came.

But there was nowhere to return to. No home awaited her, no family to look after and shelter her from the monsters parading the streets in search of victims to pleasure, piss on, or beat up. No, there was nothing that awaited Éponine either here or there. She was a lonely daughter lost long ago to the cold and cruelties of the world in which she was born, to the dank and dreary streets of Paris.

Her parents hadn't given a damn for years, so why she would return to them now was beyond rationale. They hadn't looked for her in weeks; they probably never had. Their only continued need from her was to scrape for money. She had been a commodity to them, nothing more, and if she ever returned with coinage to her credit, she was beaten by her father and verbally assaulted by her mother for her efforts.

_No... I can't go back there..._

Her younger brother, Gavroche, was dead, and, having been her last link to her old life, she would readily abandon the rest of it. She would sever ties with her remaining family indefinitely. After all, what had they ever done for her except bestow never-ending suffering?

Her sister, Azelma, had chosen to stay, and now Éponine would go. That determination had set her on the path she now found herself, walking the streets aimlessly without a home or a friend, without help or aid, without comfort or care.

_Now where to?_

In her heart, however, the dark-haired, young woman had already sought the answer before leaving the convent that had restored her to health. She had crawled her way to the steps of the church, unawares of where she was at the time, before closing her eyes and praying that God would take her; take her away to _him_—the man she had fallen so desperately and deeply in love with who never returned any of her affections. He thought her a tease, a child, a nobody...

And yet, at the time, she thought him dead. She would gladly go with him. There was no use in continuing to wander all the ugliness of the world without him, as he had been the only tangible thing worth hanging on to.

_But he lived. He's alive..._

Yes, she knew where she wanted to go, but could she bring her prideful self to do it?

Éponine was a master of the streets. She knew Paris like the back of her hand. Her instinct for survival had never failed her—perhaps the only decent awareness her parents had ever instilled in her.

But how could she go to him like _this?_ She was filthy and unfit for his society; she always had been. Yet, the strapping young man had tolerated her presence well enough. He never led her to believe that she was somehow less than he was. After all, he had been a part of the revolution rippling through France, though it had recently gone stagnant, drenched with the blood of his comrades. He had been amongst those who preached equality and democratic freedom to all, including her own.

Éponine had been so besotted by Marius Pontmercy's enthusiasm and good nature that she had been happy to overlook his attention for what it was: charity. _Nothing more_, her sharp mind would often remind her, and yet, her heart carried on loving him, even as he grew to love another, whilst she stood aside watching in the shadows, lost and overrun with despair.

The barricade to which he and his brothers organized and fought their revolution had been smothered to ruin two months ago, killing everyone in its wake. Éponine was supposed to be amongst the dead that night, reduced to nothing but a rotting corpse, but she had survived. She had found a way to carry on; her instincts hadn't failed her.

_Go to him_, she told herself as a gentle rain began to fall. _He was always good to you... Perhaps he can help you now._

Times were desperate, and even as resourceful as Éponine was, she knew she couldn't go on wandering the streets forever. Besides, wouldn't he be delighted to see her alive and unharmed? They had never finished that heartfelt conversation the night she lay dying in his arms. She had temporarily lost consciousness, and the next thing she knew, the barricade was being overrun, and she had had to crawl her way to safety using what little strength she still had.

_Yes_, she considered, letting the rain pour down her face and soak the few items of clothing on her back. What did she have to lose?

_We must finish that conversation. He must know everything. Perhaps... Perhaps it is not too late._

* * *

Marius Pontmercy, a strapping twenty-something lad with dark brown eyes and hair, sat quietly at a serving table in his grandfather's home, staring mindlessly out the window upon the quaint garden that overran the back yard. Anemones and tulips added a host of vibrant colors to the arrangement Monsieur Gillenormand had planted ages ago. Marius had maintained a fond attachment to his grandfather's stately home, and being in the man's good graces again was a welcoming change to the strained relationship they had shared in the not-too-distant past.

Most importantly, however, was the reality that the love of his life—his wife, Cosette—was with him, and her steady, sweet presence was enough to warm any man, including the reserved, easily agitated Monsieur Gillenormand. It amused Marius to see how quickly his grandfather had taken to the pretty youth, and she to him.

There was no mistaking that Cosette calmed Marius in a manner he had never felt since his own mother was alive. Before the ravishing beauty entered the Luxembourg Gardens and stole his heart, Marius had been a charged, reckless young man, ready to lay down his life for the cause he believed in: the French Revolution.

Ah, yes, those passionate sentiments still ran deep within his blood, but he now had _her_ in his life, and having a woman, as was so often told to Marius, could very well change a man, sometimes for the better but too often for the worst.

There was nothing to regret or that one could find ill in his charming, good wife, however.

"What Enjolras must think of me," he smiled to himself, tearing his eyes away from the garden to find the very silhouette of his Cosette looming in the hallway off of the open door. She was dressed in her Sunday's best—a periwinkle gown dawned with navy ribbons and a matching, oversized bonnet.

"You are off, I take it?" he asked, beckoning her to him with a soft gaze that brought out her naturally radiant smile.

"I'm afraid your grandfather is rather insistent," she replied through suppressed giggles.

"It would be untoward if he weren't, my love."

Cosette crossed the room and allowed Marius to seize one of her lace-gloved hands in his. His smile soon faded, however, and he regarded his lady love seriously.

"How is he this morning?"

Cosette gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Still sick with fever, but the fever is down from yesterday."

"That's good news," Marius uttered through a slow breath.

"I know, love. We may need to call on the doctor by nightfall if it worsens, though."

"You think it will?"

"Well..."

"It isn't the first time," Marius finished for her and peered down at his half empty glass of wine. He felt the weightlessness of Cosette's arm wrap itself around his shoulder.

"I know, Marius, but he _will_ get well. Don't lose faith."

Marius's jaw tightened. Thinking positively in the weeks that followed the ambush of the barricade had weakened his resolve, along with his spirits. He had never felt more grateful for Cosette, and their subsequent marriage only solidified his ability to move forward. 'Onward and upward,' as they say.

It wasn't the same for all, however.

"You're staying, I trust?" came his grandfather's hard-biting voice, which interrupted Marius's contemplations about the past. He nodded solemnly to the elderly gentleman with the grey beard and stone-colored eyes that softened when their eyes met. His grandfather nodded back in understanding. "He was sleeping last I checked. That fever should be well looked after."

"I'll stay with him a while," Marius assured them both; it had become rather customary that his wife and grandfather attended Sunday service together, whilst he stayed behind to attend to their guest.

In fact, between the three of them, they had all spent a great deal of time looking after the young man staying in their home, ever since Marius insisted on bringing him to his grandfather's to recoup. His Cosette certainly had no objection, seeing as how highly Marius regarded his good friend, and his grandfather, having just received his grandson back into his clutches, too agreed with surprising ease. It helped that the man had been by the house on several occasions in years' past. To the reserved Monsieur Gillenormand, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed Enjolras seemed to be a standup gentleman, even if his ideals were far too radical for his personal tastes.

"Perhaps if that fever comes down, I can bring him out to the garden," Marius suggested, giving them each a thoughtful look over.

"Absolutely not, Marius!" his grandfather all but snarled at him and stomped his cane on the ground. "Outside air would surely be the death of him!"

"Sir, it isn't the dead of winter. I think the fresh, summer air would do Enjolras some good—"

"God Almighty," the old man insisted, sounding a bit breathless. He turned to Cosette for support, as though finding Marius's suggestion the most damnable idea he had ever heard of. "Madame, I sincerely hope you don't attest to such nonsense! The man has been gravely ill for nearly ten weeks! He _must_ stay in bed and recoup."

Marius smiled, entertained by how his grandfather had taken to his dear friend in recent weeks, and gazed up lovingly at his wife. A few blonde curls tumbled down the back of her neck, but the gentle smile she wore was what made his breath stall. Every time. She peered down at him, a mutual understanding in her eyes.

"With all due respect, dearest, I think Enjolras should spend his time in bed until his body rids itself of that fever. Maybe _then_ you can entertain the idea of a garden stroll."

Marius smirked and simply kissed his wife's hand. "As you say, my dear."

"Well, then, now that that's settled, we had best be off, my child. We're already running late!"

Monsieur Gillenormand beckoned Cosette out of the room with a wave of his hand. Cosette quietly strolled on ahead of him but turned back to offer her husband a farewell smile before they both disappeared. The sound of a trotting carriage outside the house soon informed the young Marius that he was entirely alone, save for the servants, and he sighed with some relief at the returning quietude. He remained seated a few minutes longer to finish his wine and gather his thoughts before making his way down an extensive hallway and up a spiraling staircase, passing by Molly, the family maid who had been with him since infancy, as well as Tom, a second attendant who had been with Monsieur Gillenormand for at least a decade.

Marius felt an odd bit of wistfulness as he passed them by, each of whom offered him a friendly greeting. Hadn't it been their class—"the Miserables"—both he and Enjolras had recently fought so hard to elevate? Their efforts had done little good except get a dozen of their friends killed, filling and ranking the Parisian streets with their blood, along with Enjolras's and Marius's broken promises that spoke of a much better future.

Marius was determined, however, to not wallow in his own despair, and just as Cosette had saved him from a sure life of suffering and regret, so would he do so for his best friend, no matter how long it took. It was a fleeting thought he often had before entering the guest quarters that had become Enjolras's room.

Truth be told, Marius's worry hadn't waned since his friend's arrival shortly after the barricade was overrun. If anything, his anxiety had heightened, and with good reason. The man had sustained two bullet wounds to the chest, although, in the hands of doctors, he had narrowly escaped death within an inch of his life. The physical price he had sustained, however, was some days unbearable for Marius to witness, but he couldn't give in to doubt and the possibility of losing his friend. He refused to lose one more brother to the barricade.

_The bloody barricade..._

It seemed like only yesterday they had lost them all—their friends, their brothers in arms—to the unjust French rule. He and Enjolras had been the only two to survive the onslaught, and, while Marius had gone on to recover from his battle wounds rather quickly, his friend was looking far worse for the ware, and making very little progress towards a healthy recovery.

The fact that Enjolras had survived the bullets that ripped through his flesh was miraculous, a remarkable feat his grandfather was especially hung up on, seeing as even Marius still knew not how he had managed it, nor how he had escaped. Marius was immensely grateful to his grandfather, who made it his business to hire men to look for Enjolras in the aftermath, seeing as Marius was in hospital and incapacitated. He simply needed to know for sure who was alive or dead, and to any who _had_ survived, the door would be open to them as long as his grandfather would allow it.

The hired inquirers discovered Enjolras two days later and Monsieur Gillenormand opened his home to the revolutionist without question, allowing for his safety and welfare to be overseen to in his own home, and all at Marius's request. Inspectors were undoubtedly looking for his good friend, Marius was certain, and this home—this refuge—provided what Enjolras needed, even if the man had begged the inquirers not to bring him at all.

To this day, Marius still hadn't a clue how Enjolras survived or how he slipped out of the clutches of Inspector Javert, but he was grateful that his best friend survived, and fought still. Marius would do whatever he could to help for as long as it took, and, with Cosette at his side, the possibility had never felt more tangible. He could only pray he wasn't disillusioning himself.

Marius paused outside Enjolras's door, which was ajar, before he slowly poked his head inside. Natural light poured into a rather plain-looking room from a window opposite the four-poster bed that his friend occupied. A small bookshelf, a decent-sized writing desk, and a sofa chair made up the remaining furniture.

The room itself was eerily quiet for the moment, save for the strained, noisy breathing coming from Enjolras's bed. Marius spotted his ill friend and froze. It was a sight he had seen countless times over, and yet, his eyes could never grow accustomed to seeing the once strong leader of their revolution reduced to bed-ridden weakness.

_No, not like this..._

The many blankets covering Enjolras's lean frame had been pushed or kicked down around his waist. He was a remarkably good-looking fellow with short, blonde, curly hair, handsomely sharp features, and piercing blue eyes. The cotton shirt he currently wore was soaked with perspiration as he thrashed his head about in sleep, moaning every so often for relief. It was uncharacteristic of the man to grouse so, like a beaten dog scrounging for some sort of relief.

The normally envious-looking, thick curls were stuck to his forehead, as his entire body was covered in sweat, and his eyes were squeezed shut, as though he were experiencing true physical pain from his fever. Just beneath the man's v-neck shirt was the visible glimpse of one of the two gunshot wounds he had sustained during the attack on the barricade, and catching it always made Marius wince, for he had battle scars of his own. It was an unspoken reminder of what Enjolras and he had endured that summer's eve at the beginning of June.

Marius swallowed his reservations and crossed to Enjolras's bedside. He reached out to feel his friend's forehead and was startled by how warm and worked up he was.

"Enjolras, wake up," he commanded, though softly.

When it didn't work, Marius grabbed his friend by the shoulder and gently pried him awake by shaking him. Even with a burning fever, he suspected what the nightmares Enjolras was reliving in his mind were. The two of them didn't speak of that fateful day often, but there was an unspoken dialogue between the two men that they, alone, understood. Their sleepless nights were uniformly plagued by the horrors of the overrun barricade, the faces of those they had lost inescapable and unforgettable.

"Enjolras, please, wake up. _Wake up._"

Enjolras's head jerked forward and he awoke with a start, his blue eyes opening to that of the concerned friend looking down upon him. "Marius?" he rasped, his chest heaving.

"It's all right, Enjolras. You were dreaming." Marius reached down and felt the man's forehead a second time as Enjolras's red-rimmed eyes closed. "And you have a fever again."

"What else is new?" he mumbled, breathlessly trying to steady his pounding heartbeat, which felt as though it were being crushed by some ghastly weight pressing on his chest.

His shivering body was soon recovered by a handful of blankets. Enjolras slowly reopened his eyes, his weary self soaking in the familiar surroundings of what had quickly become his room—a place he had yet to leave, much to his dissatisfaction. Not that he was in any condition to do so.

"What days is it?" he asked once his breathing leveled out.

He heard the soft rippling and cascading of water droplets near his bed and soon something warm and wet was being pressed to his forehead. He sighed in contentment and sunk his head into his pillows, re-shutting his eyes.

"Sunday," Marius answered quietly.

He continued to dab Enjolras's brow with the washcloth and water bowl that Cosette had set aside; it was a gesture he repeated so often these days that he hardly thought twice about it. He knew deep down that if their roles were reversed, Enjolras would look after him—and all of their fallen friends—in a heartbeat.

"Not at service this morning?" Enjolras returned in more of a statement than a question.

Marius smirked. "No, not today."

Enjolras's dignified mouth twisted itself into a wry smile, though his eyes remained shut. "I fear I may become the cause of your eternal damnation."

"Highly unlikely, my friend."

"Or your grandfather's, perhaps."

"Now_ that_ is far more likely."

The two men chuckled unanimously, though Marius's sober regard soon returned. After allowing silence to fill the void between them for some time, he withdrew the damp cloth and took a seat next to the bed, watching his friend rest, or so he assumed until Enjolras spoke again.

"Is there a breeze?" he whispered, his face turned away towards the window.

"I can open the window further for you."

With barely a sound, Marius stood up, walked to the window, and the shudders creaked as he drew them completely open. It was an overcast day, however, with no real sunlight peeking through the clouds. Marius regarded the rather noiseless Parisian streets below. It was an upscale part of town on the North end of the Seine, less crowded and much more reticent than the streets he and Enjolras so often frequented as university students.

When Marius turned around, he was surprised to find Enjolras still awake, his heavy eyelids half way opened and his peaceful face staring out the window just past Marius's shoulder; but he didn't seem to be seeing anything. There was a faraway look in his eyes, which were once bright and charismatic but were now cold and dark.

"Enjolras?" Marius startled and went to the bed, taking a seat at his side, but the handsome Parisian continued gazing absently out the window, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

"Do you suppose it will rain today?"

Enjolras's voice sounded tired and drained and Marius couldn't help but turn away, wanting to keep his face as apathetic as possible. He was unaware that Enjolras had slowly drawn his eyes away from the window to look at him. They stared at Marius in a thoughtful silence.

"I suppose it may," Marius whispered.

When he returned his attention to his friend, Enjolras's eyes were beginning to close once more. "You don't have to stay, Marius," Enjolras insisted. "You have a new bride to see to."

"She's with my grandfather now. It's fine."

"Even so..."

"Enjolras, I brought you here, and we're going to look after you."

"You needn't have bothered."

"Don't say that," Marius eyebrows knitted together. "You're my friend; you're like a brother to me, and you've become as close to us all now as to be like family."

Enjolras's eyelids drooped and his face rolled sideways, stilling against the pillows that cradled his head. "I'm grateful to you and your family, Marius," he murmured in a more sluggish tone, "but you've done more than enough for me..."

"And what would you suggest?" Marius tried to smile, but his voice was pained. "That I should have left you in the care of that good for nothing wench? What on earth could she have done?"

"She had me looked after just fine..."

"_Connerie!_" *****

Enjolras sniggered roughly, but then his small smile disappeared. His body shifted to try and get more comfortable, but he gave up quickly, keeping his eyes closed against the pains that seemed to rattle him from limb to limb.

Marius reached out and touched his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Rest, Enjolras." After Enjolras settled down, Marius looked him over carefully. "Do you need the doctor?"

He knew what the stubborn gent's reply would be. He_ never_ wanted a doctor, even when he direly needed one. Enjolras rolled his head back and forth, his body still trembling with fever.

"No..."

"If your fever doesn't break today, I'll have to call for one."

"That won't be necessary," Enjolras stated, though on the verge of sleep.

Marius shook his head; he wanted nothing more than to remain positive, but it was proving a half hearted effort.

"_Ne fais pas le con!_" ******

Enjolras's mouth barely broke a smile, as he was far too deep in a near doze to respond back properly. His "_Enfoiré!_" ******* retort was only a whisper but still got Marius chuckling to himself. When his soft laughter subsided, he pulled the covers up more securely around Enjolras's shoulders and stood back, eying his friend attentively as he slept.

This time, there were no nightmares, but Marius wasn't fooled; it was only a matter of time before that fateful day—the death and destruction of everything they had fought for—would resurface.

_The nightmares always come back..._

* * *

"His fever's breaking," Cosette announced to the two men of the house shortly following dinner.

Dressed in less formal attire, Cosette had her hair tied back, though a few loose curls tumbled out of her bun, framing her heart-shaped face rather perfectly. Marius quickly withdrew from the parlor that he and his grandfather had retired to for the evening and followed close at his wife's heel up the stairs and down the hall to Enjolras's room, where the servant, Molly, was currently standing by.

"He's sweatin' it out, sir," she announced when Marius approached the bed, his face marked with concern; she quickly moved away to make room. "I heard him sayin' somethin' or other about a Gavroche an' a Grantaire or some other? I couldn't make out a word of it, sir."

"Thank you, Molly."

Cosette took a seat on the opposite side of the bed and silently took the washcloth from the elderly maid's hand. "Molly, can you bring us some more hot water, and a few fresh towels, please?"

"Yes, Madame."

Once they were alone, Marius turned from an incoherent, slumbering Enjolras to Cosette, who looked the epitome of calmness in a storm as she reached out and gently dabbed at the man's face. He flinched and tried to inch away from her touch, though unaware of doing so.

"Should we call on the doctor?" Marius asked, worried.

"I think he may make it through all right with this one, love. It's not as bad as before."

"It's breaking then?"

"Yes." She turned to her frowning husband and offered him a tender, reassuring smile that calmed his breathing. "He'll be all right, Marius. He's a fighter. I don't think this is going to keep him down for long. Remember your own fever? It was much like this."

Marius desperately wanted to believe that that were true, but any small steps towards recovery had been plagued by a grave series of setbacks. This latest episode, he feared, would be no different. Marius tried to simper persuadably for his wife and then took Enjolras by the shoulder to keep him from thrashing about.

"It'll be all right, my friend," he tried to speak to an unconscious Enjolras, who was twisting and turning against his bed sheets. "Hang on. The worst is over."

* * *

"Please, Monsieur!" Éponine begged; she was more than prepared to grovel at the servant's feet if it would get her access to the man she so desperately longed to see. "Monsieur Pontmercy knows who I am! I beg of you—"

"You are not _fit_ to be seen!"

The servant named Tom stuck up his nose at the unsightly girl's haggard appearance, at her dirty clothes, mud-covered feet and grimy-looking hair that was half pulled back. She clearly was the most subordinate of society, the lowest of the low. How his employer's grandson could possibly have associated with such a person—_such filth!_—was beyond the servant's measure of thinking as he stood at attention, scrutinizing the dark-haired woman through beady eyes.

Éponine wrapped her arms tightly around herself. She had never felt so utterly exposed to the cream of society as she did now. If this was the normal conduct of those who had bettered themselves, yet still served only a level or two higher than her, then she desired no part of it. There was only one individual she would make an exception for in a heartbeat, though.

_Marius..._

"I... I don't wish to come in. I - I just want to see him."

"No. Get off Monsieur Gillenormand's property. Make yourself scarce. _Now!_"

"_Please—_"

Éponine started for the door, but it was abruptly slammed in her face. Tears prickled her eyes, but she wouldn't cry. No, she was a fighter, a survivor of the streets. And this time, she would get what she damned well wanted. She had nothing left to lose.

Éponine stumbled backward in search of an open window. Her immediate instinct was to climb and enter the house unannounced if she had to, but she quickly stomped such a crazy idea out of her mind. What would Marius possibly think of her then?

_You're supposed to be dead, Éponine!_

This particular summer's night was comfortable enough to let in the gentle breeze coming from the South, where the barricade once stood—where all those young, courageous freedom fighters had fallen—so Éponine sought her advantage, and, in a rare moment, found herself in better luck. Her heart catapulted into her throat at the discovery of a half opened window two stories above. The flickering of faint lighting within told her the room was currently occupied.

Making sure no one was maundering about the streets, Éponine cupped her hands together and called up to whoever's bedroom it was, inwardly praying it was the right one. "Monsieur Marius! Monsieur! Marius!" _Oh, please, dear God..._ "Marius! MARIUS!"

She heard some muffled talking, either between two gentlemen or a gentleman and a woman, before a familiar face—_that face_—made its appearance at the window, peering down at her through squinted eyes that she recognized instantly. The smile that lit up her grime-ridden face spread wide from ear to ear.

_He isn't dead! The rumors were true!_ Marius Pontmercy had survived the barricade ambush. _Thank God!_

"_Marius!_" she breathed, so excited she thought her chest might burst with happiness.

It took him a moment to recognize that sham of a person, but when the recollection registered, his brown eyes brightened as well, in shock. "Ép... _Éponine?_ God Almighty, is it really _you?_"

"Yes, Monsieur! _Yes, yes!_ It's me!"

"How did you..." Words escaped him and flew away on the night air. He quickly turned away from her to speak excitedly to whoever else was inside, and it was then that Éponine's fears were realized. Her elated smile faltered.

_It's probably Cosette... Unless... No, that would be too good to be true._

Marius instructed her to stay where she was. "I'll be down in a moment!"

A few minutes later and Marius was out in front of the house, standing before her with such a grin as not to be believed to the besotted girl who had fallen in love with him so long ago. He scooped her up in a hug, ignoring the fact that she was soiling his shirt, and then reared back in alarm at how light she weighed in his arms.

"_Éponine!_ I can't believe— How did you... It's so good to see you!"

"It's good to see you too, Monsieur!"

"I thought... But you were..." He raked his fingers through his brown, wavy locks, staring at her in disbelief. "But I watched you..."

Éponine smiled shyly. "I suppose things aren't always what they seem."

"_What happened?_"

"I... I passed out, Monsieur, and when I awoke, the barricade was being overrun. I was in so much pain that I don't remember much of the details, but I remember someone dragging me out of the café and ordering that I get somewhere safe, so I... I crawled on my hands and knees through the rubble. I don't know for how long, and eventually I lost consciousness." She paused to draw breath. "When I awoke, I was being cared for in a convent. Oh, Marius, they were so kind to me. A doctor came a number of times. He was very nice, too."

Marius shook his head in awe. "Well, I'm so relieved you're all right!"

Although her heart was swelling, Éponine was surprised at Marius's lack of fortitude. Surely, it had to have been _he_ who told her to get to safety, but when he offered nothing, she was half tempted to ask. His next words, however, stopped her short.

"I... I thought I'd lost you forever. You were so very kind to me, and what you did...that night..."

Éponine unconsciously brought a hand over her stomach and smiled warmly at him. "Think nothing of it, Monsieur."

_I'd do it again for you..._

"How can I not?" he all but cried out, bringing her into another firm hug. "You saved my life, Éponine! I... I don't know how to repay you."

"There's no debt to be paid."

"Oh, there is! There _is!_"

Marius moved back from their warm embrace, and it took every ounce of will for Éponine not to crumble and whimper at being in his arms again. But any opportunity to speak more frankly about the intimate exchange they had shared that night at the barricade was lost when the front door opened and the fair silhouette of a young woman came into view.

_Cosette._

Éponine's face closed up and she stepped back from Marius, feeling the final blow. She hadn't considered that the two might already be married. There would be no other reason for the pretty thing to be at his grandfather's home at such a late hour.

"My love," Marius called to Cosette, and Éponine felt her throat constrict at the public declaration; it had wounded her enough to hear in the past. "Look! Éponine's alive! Here I'd thought... Well, it's another miracle, isn't it?"

To Éponine's wonder, Cosette stepped forward onto the pavement and approached her with a smile that was entirely genuine. As a girl of the streets, Éponine could decipher the meanings of a face when she saw it, and there was nothing disingenuous in Cosette's demeanor for her to rightfully despise or hate. It made the weighing sorrow in her heart even greater.

"Éponine, it's so good to see you again!"

"M - Madame," she stumbled, bowing her head so as not to look upon the far more superior lady in her midst.

"Oh, do call me Cosette, Éponine. We knew each other as children. No need for such formalities now." Her fetching blue eyes scanned Éponine's homely state with a quiet gasp. "But look at you... You must be in desperate need of some food. Come!"

When Marius's love tentatively reached out to take Éponine's wiry arm, the girl drew back, skittish and inwardly affronted. She was nobody's charity case, and that certainly wasn't why she had come here. Her withdrawal was met with a frown by both parties.

"Éponine, please," Marius insisted in a gentle fashion that instantly pulled her close, "you must be wanting food and some proper rest. Come! You are more than welcomed here."

"Yes, indeed," Cosette too urged, much to Éponine's dismay. "After what you did for Marius..." Her eyes gazed up lovingly at her husband, her entire face echoing of appreciation. "Well, we're _both_ indebted to you, Éponine."

"I... I told Monsieur Marius that there's nothing to be repaid."

"You may not think so, Éponine, but saving my life is something that deserves our gratitude." Marius carefully took her by the arm. "Please stay a while."

Éponine squirmed uncomfortably. "But your grandfather—"

"He will make an exception, I can assure you. I told him all about your sacrifice. I'm sure he'll want to pay you his thanks in person."

_So, he's spoken of me to others_, Éponine reflected to herself, unable to prevent the glow that lit up her face.

"If you'll please excuse me," Cosette nodded to her, her grateful smile still intact, "I have to return upstairs. Forgive me, Éponine, but please do come in, have some food and rest, and we'll talk tomorrow!"

Cosette gave another curt bow before scurrying back inside, leaving Marius's lovesick eyes to trail after her pretty form and long, tumbling blonde curls. Éponine surveyed her own worn, grimy attire and couldn't prevent her scowl of shame.

"Monsieur Marius, I - I'm really not fit to...to enter your home..."

"Nonsense, Éponine!" In one fell swoop, his arm was wrapped around her shoulder, and Éponine felt her breath steal away. "After all that you've done for me, you're _more_ than welcomed. Come."

Éponine felt her weightless legs being pushed towards her unrequited love's home, and a wave of excitement mixed with dread overwhelmed her to the point that she couldn't speak, only comply quietly, as Marius led her inside. "You'll have to excuse my wife," he whispered close to her ear, "she's overseeing the care of another dear friend of mine who's residing with us. Perhaps you'll get to meet him again tomorrow, if he's feeling better."

_'Again'? Who could that be?_

It was the last fleeting thought Éponine had before she found herself inside Marius's grandfather's luxurious home, and the door to the cruel outside world—the dank and dirty streets of Paris that had never done her short life any favors—was shut, its harsh remains unknowingly closed to her forever.

* * *

**French 101 (aka I-Hope-I-Got-This-Right!): **  
*** Translation:** "_Bullshit!_"  
**** Translation:** "_Don't be an ass!_"  
***** Translation:** "_Dickhead!_"

**A/N #2: This _will_ be an E/É fic, I promise, but we can't expect her to be over Marius so quickly. There will be a lot more explanation in chapters to come about their survivals. The dynamics of the characters may feel slightly different in this fic, too. I got the sense in the film version that Marius and Enjolras were a lot closer to one another, very much like brothers, so I'm going with that because I think it's rather comforting.  
**

**_I welcome your thoughts! Thank you!_  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you so much to those of you who left such lovely reviews! Your feedback is _very _encouraging to keep this going, so please continue letting me know your thoughts. Don't be shy. :) **

**Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

**_"Another day, another destiny..."_  
-_Les Mis___****é**rables

* * *

Éponine found herself immediately dragged to the kitchen to devour buttered bread, cheese and wine, all of which were the best she had ever tasted. Her immunity to hunger had become so great that she devoured her first helping in minutes, without taking time for breath and without awareness of how starved she truly was.

Marius had excused himself momentarily to see to his guest, much to the poor girl's mixture of curiosity and disappointment, as having just reunited with the lad, she wasn't keen on letting him out of her sight. She was reluctantly offered second helpings by none other than the house maid, Molly, who looked thoroughly disgusted to be serving a young woman of lower caliber than she. Éponine could read the angry, old hag's judgmental eyes like the back of her hand, and even she couldn't deny that being served at all felt oddly strange and unnatural. However, Molly did as her master instructed, though she turned up her nose and stalked out of the kitchen after Éponine finished her second meal, looking as though she could easily go for a third.

Éponine's stomach felt rapturously fulfilled, the contents of which were luxurious from the impoverished standards and helping sizes she was accustomed to. After guzzling down the remainder of her wine, she wiped her mouth in satisfaction, and stumbled slightly when getting to her feet.

Marius soon returned and escorted her to a guest room on the second level. A faint light glinted from down the hallway, momentarily catching Éponine's eye.

"Our second guest is staying there," Marius explained, having casually turned his head to catch the curiosity on her smudge-ridden face, "and you're just around the corner here."

The door creaked and opened to a dark, bare room. Marius placed the lit candle holder in his hand on an end table, situated next to a comfy-looking bed that immediately captured Éponine's attention.

_An actual bed_, her mind reeled. _Pillows! Sheets! Dear Lord, how wonderful that looks..._

"Cosette, myself, and Grandfather are on the opposite end of the second level," Marius continued, not catching the wonderment in Éponine's enlarged, brown eyes. "You'll meet him tomorrow. He has to go into town in the morning, so I would imagine sometime in the afternoon or early evening."

Éponine peered down at her soiled toes and shabby, flimsy-threaded green skirt covered in dry mud patches. She swallowed and met Marius's eyes, reddening in the face.

"Monsieur Marius, I... With all due respect, I simply cannot meet your grandfather. I'm not suitably dressed or bathed—"

"Molly will run you a bath tomorrow, and Cosette will see to getting you some fresh clothes."

"Oh!"

Éponine rattled where she stood. She didn't want help from Marius's lover, wife, and companion for life. _No!_ She neither desired, nor appreciated, Marius's and Cosette's pity, for that matter, which this obviously was. A deeper part of her also detested the gentleman's soft reminder of where she stood in life, as if she wasn't acutely aware of the fact. She knew that Marius meant no offense by his generosity, and yet, she couldn't help but inwardly seethe.

_Of course_ her clothes were tattered and torn, her skin and hair dirtied from the Parisian streets. She was one of the "Miserables," after all—a child born to ruin, who sprang into the world only to suffer in order to survive. Dressing in something more suitable wouldn't change her grim circumstances, she knew, and the rags on her back were one of the few personal items she had left to truly call her own; the last remnants of Éponine's pitiful existence, but it was_ hers_ nonetheless.

"I - I can't allow you to do that, Monsieur," she pleaded, breathless and lost for words.

Marius merely smirked—that dashing, cheeky simper that had always set her heart aflutter, as it affected many a young woman, regardless of class—and shook his head as he brushed past her to the door. He turned around when he reached it, taking a moment to eye Éponine up and down with another glimmer of incredulity.

"You _will_ allow it, Éponine," he asserted with kindness in his voice. "It's the least I—_we_—can do for all that you've done for us."

Before Éponine could protest again, Marius gave her a quiet, respectful nod and shut the door, leaving her to her thoughts. Éponine wrapped her arms around herself, hardly able to grasp that she was here, with Marius, so close to her heart's desire. Yet, he wasn't hers, and still felt as far away as ever.

_Why on earth did you come?_ her conscience berated. _He was never yours to lose, and now here you are, his charity case! Dear God Almighty, you cannot stay! In the morning, you must say your peace and leave!_

Exhausted, Éponine gazed longingly at the bed that awaited her with a delight she hadn't experienced in ages. She sunk down onto the duvet, ignoring the fact that she was still filthy, and curled up contentedly beneath the covers. She couldn't even recall the last time she had slept in a proper bed. Perhaps sometime in her youth when she was six or seven?

_No, longer than that... God, this feels wonderful!_

Just before sleep easily overtook her, Éponine thought fleetingly of the second guest down the hall. Marius had mentioned that she knew said person, but Éponine had very few acquaintances, and most of those that she had maintained contact with were dead, one of them having met his demise during the overthrow of the barricade: her dear little brother, Gavroche.

_Who could it possibly be?_ she wondered; but sleep was a much more welcoming alternative to thinking, and, soon, Éponine was fast asleep, snoring lightly beneath the covers.

* * *

"Awake, Missy!" a voice hissed in her ear, startling Éponine out of her deep slumber.

The divinely warm covers were thrown back, and Éponine's skin was hit with the sting of the morning's chill. The sun was only beginning to rise, but most of her room was still immersed in darkness. A plump woman soon came into view beside her bed: Molly, the maid, and the annoyance she bore was acutely felt.

"Bath," she commanded, placing her hands on her round hips. "Out of bed! Now!"

"Oh... I..."

Éponine stumbled to sit upright, disoriented from the most peaceful sleep she had experienced in years. She stood before Molly, who examined her up and down with a critical eye before huffing and stomping away.

"Come!" she demanded, not stopping when she threw the door open and marched on.

Éponine fumbled after the elderly woman, discomforted at being handled and waited on at all, yet alone by a servant of slightly higher stature than herself. She understood the woman's temperament and bit her lip nervously.

Soon, she found herself in a lukewarm tub, shivering as she was manhandled by Molly, who scrubbed her too roughly whilst griping under her breath all the while. Even if the water itself was tepid, the bath was heavenly. Éponine's entire body had been soiled so long she wondered if the grime would actually wash off.

With lots of harsh and heavy duty scrubbing, as well as yanking and tugging at her limbs and hair by the grumpy maid, Éponine's body was scourged of the gritty, dismal life she led. As she emerged from the bath, her bruise-covered remains wrapped in towels, she couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Her mind knew she was probably kidding herself—no amount of water could cleanse her of the commissary that was her existence—but, for the moment, she felt almost well again; above that of a street rat. It was a fleeting sentiment, but a positive one.

Éponine was led back to her room, where Molly stripped her sheets that had been embarrassingly soiled the night before; she had to look out the window as to not be reminded of the fact. What Marius must have thought of her filthy appearance!

_Marius..._

Éponine was lost in thought as she stared out at the streets below, quiet and not yet awoken to the rising sun, or so it seemed, when a sweet voice interrupted her musings about a certain unattainable, dark-haired gentleman. She jerked and turned around, wrapping the towels tighter around her quivering form.

"I'm sorry, Éponine, I didn't mean to startle you."

It was Cosette, looking beautifully at ease and refreshed in a pale green gown with her blonde curls whisked back into a bun. She offered Éponine a happy smile, one that inwardly made her stomach churn. For the life of her, she couldn't understand the woman's kindness from the night before. Then again, now that it was only the two of them, perhaps her true colors would finally make an appearance.

"I - I'm sorry, Madame," Éponine blushed profusely. "I didn't hear you come in. I - I'm not decent yet. The maid took my clothes..."

"Oh, you won't have need of those anymore."

Éponine rattled; so this was some kind of joke at her expense. Cosette had taken the clothes right off her back, the sole possessions she owned, and cast them aside. Éponine could feel her cheeks burning, until the fetching young lady spoke again, drawing closer.

"You're to attain a fresh wardrobe. My husband and I discussed it last night. I have a few items of my own that should do for now. Molly should be along with them shortly."

Éponine felt overheated and immediately averted her eyes. "I... Thank - Thank you, Madame, for your generosity but—"

"Please, Éponine, you may call me Cosette, remember? There's no need for such formalities."

Éponine kept her head lowered, however, and nodded respectfully. "Thank you, erm, Cosette, but I... I cannot accept such generosity. I - I can't—"

"Nonsense." Cosette reached out and touched her arm, hidden beneath the towels that kept her from being entirely exposed. "Shall we let bygones be bygones? You saved my husband's life. There's nothing to thank for allowing me to illustrate my appreciation."

Éponine blushed and, for a moment, she forgot that she was quite cold standing in nothing but towels. "Madame—_Cosette_—I – I told Monsieur Marius that it was nothing. _Truly._"

"You're too humble," Cosette issued with a soft smile that caught Éponine's eye. "I understand, too, that you brought him to my house. Had you not done so, I... Well, it's likely to assume we'd have never met again. You've done a great deal for me personally, Éponine. In many ways, you're responsible for securing my happiness..."

Éponine startled at that revelation. She hadn't interpreted her actions_ that_ way and had only acted with much reluctance and heartache. Watching Marius—_her_ Marius—fall in love with another had been the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. The fact that it was Cosette only burdened her heart further. Her father's beatings, her mother's scorn, even the few men who had robbed her of her chastity paled to the anguish of seeing Marius fall for someone else.

"I... I'm glad you're happy," Éponine whispered so quietly that her voice barely registered; it had taken all of her inner strength to even force the lie out, because, truth be told, she was far from happy for the higher beauty standing before her, who had robbed her of the one joy in her life.

"Thank you," Cosette returned just as quietly. "We haven't always gotten along, you and I, but we were both children then, caught up in matters that weren't necessarily our faults. I'm prepared to let it go..."

Molly suddenly reemerged, discontentedly holding a handful of finely-tailored dresses in her arms. Cosette's smile widened.

"But enough of such things. Let's get you dressed, shall we?"

* * *

Enjolras's eyes fluttered open to faint rays dancing across his room, peeking in from the half open window to his right. He slowly turned his head to gaze out at the rising sun and rose-tinted sky and sighed heavily—an audible illustration of rue he would never share. Sensing that the fever had past, the terrible aches all over his body remained, and his head felt too dense when he strained to crane his neck. There would be no getting out of bed today.

_When will I ever?_

Enjolras made a discernible growl, aggravated to no end, and turned away from the soft light streaming into his bedroom. He would continue to reject the wretched sun. As long as he could do nothing and feel nothing, looking upon what little beauty he found within these four walls served little purpose but to deepen his wallowing despair.

By all accounts, he shouldn't be alive, in bed, to awaken to such a glorious morning as this. And Enjolras knew it. He was forced to acknowledge that hard-hitting reality every day since that unforgettable morning in June; and there seemed to be no end to the terrible pang in his chest that accompanied each rising sun, each morn, each passing day.

_I should have gone with them to the end... I should have died, too... God Almighty, why didn't you take me? Why am I still here?_

An unsettling ripple coursed through Enjolras's veins. Perhaps it was the shooting pains he so often felt in his chest from whence the bullets had entered. _No..._ He knew what that trembling, all-consuming pain was: abandoned hope.

Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut, unmindful that he was no longer alone with his disheartening thoughts. The deafening silence, however, was enough to send him over the edge. How much longer could he withstand this; withstand _life?_

"Enjolras?" came the quiet echo of a concerned-sounding Marius. Enjolras shot his eyes open and was met by the sight of his friend hovering over him, his brow marred. "Are you all right?"

"Yes..." He hated how despicably weak he sounded. "I... I could use some water," he confided, realizing his mouth was parched.

"Of course."

Marius shuffled away out of sight and soon returned with a glass in his hand. Enjolras struggled to sit up, knowing the attempt would probably be futile, seeing as he had little to no physical strength. How quickly his body had turned on him.

One of Marius's hands slipped behind his head to lift his neck, followed by a splash of cold water that was pressed to his lips. Enjolras drank the fresh liquid gratefully, even if he remained mortified by every attempt Marius and his family made on his behalf, such as now. The act of drinking water was apparently too physically trying, and Enjolras wasn't a man who desired pity or concern, nor did he appreciate having to helplessly rely on the kindness of others.

He had always been a resourceful man, even when in the good graces of his father, but that life was no more. His joining the revolution had put a stop to his inheritance, as well as the close connection he shared with his mother. He had learned early on in his university days to look after himself. Life was cruel, unpardonable, and full of unwanted surprises.

Therefore, it felt entirely wrong to be imposing upon Monsieur Gillenormand's territory, even if he hadn't been the one to invite himself. Marius's grandfather seemed to have taken a liking to him, despite his "grave political faults," but being welcomed was one thing, staying was another. The sooner Enjolras could walk and be on his way, the better, only what the once physically strong, capable young man thought would be days in bed had turned into weeks and then months, his health failing and deteriorating rapidly.

_Only I won't die!_ he would grouse once alone. _God, why won't you let me die?_

Enjolras was rarely capable of leaving his bed anymore, save but to relieve himself, and even then, he required assistance. Not only was it emotionally and mentally crippling to such a fine gentleman in his prime, to Enjolras, it was inexcusable and weak.

_It's punishment_, he concluded, which did nothing for his ever-growing melancholy. _God's punishing you for your damned revolution, for leading those men to their deaths. Yes... This is nothing less than you deserve, Enjolras, and you well know it!_

"Better?" he vaguely heard Marius suddenly inquire, to which he nodded and collapsed against his pillows, closing his eyes.

_Damn the symptoms!_ He was sick of being so tired and spent all the time, lying in bed and sleeping the days away. What he wouldn't give for a stroll, to go outside and breathe in the fresh air and let the summer sun beat down upon him, despite the ever foul stench of the Parisian streets, twice as assaulting to the senses this time of year.

Enjolras was accustomed to an active lifestyle; he could recall the countless times he had aimlessly walked the various parks all over the city, reeling and obsessing over the rebellion and plotting with the _Les Amis de l'ABC_. The passion and fervor for change was widespread and hung in the air; the sheer will to make a difference vast and growing, and the determination to rise against the state lingered, even now.

For one man who had ascended to lead his rebellion into the setting sun, that resolution and fight was over, ripped from his grasp when it snatched his friends away at dawn. Enjolras tried not to let his mind drift to the revolution too often these days, but the act was near impossible. If this was to truly be the rest of his life—wallowing in sickness and being of little to no use to anyone—then he would have rather died on that battle field, at that café he and his friends had plotted their revolution and met their violent ends.

All save for him and Marius. The two lone survivors.

"Would you like to sit up?"

Enjolras opened his eyes half way and shook his head. He knew what Marius was doing, and he was too weary for small talk or company today. _No..._ He wished to be alone with his thoughts.

"Aren't you having breakfast with your family this morning?" he mumbled, feeling a wave of sleep deprivation wash over him.

Enjolras hoped Marius wouldn't stay long. Sometimes his friend's mere presence pained him too greatly. He was a representation of Enjolras's past, of everything he had fought and lost. His friend would have died, too, and been another number amongst the dead, had not the late Jean Valjean intervened and come to his rescue.

"In a little while, yes," Marius answered, giving him a small smile. "Our house is slowly being invaded, as my grandfather would say. We're expecting additional company this morning."

"Oh?" Enjolras's heavy eyelids fell. "Who?"

He wasn't remotely interested; all he could think about now was sleep.

"Éponine."

Enjolras reopened an eye. Was he expected to know who that was? Apparently Marius sensed the man's confusion and chuckled lightly, tossing his head back and forth.

"I suppose you wouldn't remember her. She never said much. She only hung about because of Gavroche and me." He paused to run his fingers through his hair as Enjolras looked on indifferently. "She showed up here last night; I couldn't believe it! I thought she'd died, Enjolras, but somehow she lived too. Another miracle in all of this mess..."

Enjolras swallowed hard and rolled his head towards the window again, away from Marius, whose face had suddenly fallen. " I - I'm sorry, Enjolras," he whispered, his voice soft and pained. "I didn't mean it like that. Please, understand... My feelings about that day haven't changed, I—"

"I think I'll rest...for a while..."

Marius went still in his chair, his eyes gazing worriedly at the back of Enjolras's mop of gold curls. Slowly, he rose to his feet and walked out of the room, but not before turning back to ensure that his friend was all right; or as well as could be expected.

Enjolras's eyes were closed, his chest evenly rising and falling. He appeared to have fallen asleep, and Marius could only hope he hadn't sent his friend into another downward spiral. With one last careful look over, Marius quietly closed the door and left.

* * *

Éponine appeared for breakfast looking a remarkable sight. Her long, brown locks, once greasy and unkempt, had been effortlessly pulled back, showcasing her natural waves. Her pale yellow dress, though not of high class but still a far cry from the rags for clothing she had worn all her life, hugged her slender waistline. The sleeves conveniently covered her many bruises, although a few cuts on her face gave away her social position as a commoner—a Mademoiselle who had 'entered' a higher class of society, not by birth or position, and, who, in actuality, held no merit.

For Marius, however, it was examining Éponine through a new set of eyes. With the dirt cleansed from her face, she was quite handsome, and he noted her sepia-colored irises for the first time, as well as the traces of a rather attractive mouth. She no longer resembled a nobody, or, worse, the street rat who did as she was told because her father would beat her otherwise. No, she almost passed for a lady, and the result left him dumbstruck.

Her impression, too, also proved agreeable to Monsieur Gillenormand, who had been well informed of his newest guest's arrival, as well as her involvement in saving his grandson from certain death. The elderly gentleman tipped his head to her in gratitude more than once and held small conversation with the otherwise quiet, soft-spoken girl.

"Thank you for your generous hospitality, Monsieur Gillenormand," Éponine issued once afternoon tea was concluded, feeling quite out of her element. "I don't know how to repay your kindness—"

"Nonsense, my child," Marius's grandfather waved away her politeness with his hand. "You did a great service to my grandson, and for which _I_ owe _you_ my thanks. Do stay a while and keep our lovely Cosette company. I'm sure she could use with more ladylike conversation?"

Cosette smiled brightly, in a manner that seemed to glow from within. Éponine found herself envious. She would never possess such natural beauty.

"Of course! Perhaps Éponine and I can take a stroll in the garden this afternoon."

"I - I would like that," Éponine returned, still feeling terribly out of her depths; her cheeks had been a blushing rose all morning.

"I hope to converse with you later, Éponine," Marius stressed as well, shooting her his ever handsome grin. "I do still need to hear the tale."

"The tale?"

"Your miraculous survival, of course!"

"Oh..." Éponine felt her cheeks radiating at such interest, innocent as it may be, and bowed her head. "If you'd like, Monsieur Marius."

"It's settled then!"

"Do you suppose your friend would care to hear the tale?" Monsieur Gillenormand suggested, which raised Éponine's eyebrows.

The three of them had been talking in circles about this other guest of theirs for quite some time, much to Éponine's ever heightening curiosity, but, thus far, no name had been dropped. After a while, Éponine couldn't help but wonder if they were being purposely secretive, or simply unaware that their present company had no idea to whom they were referring to.

An hour later saw Marius and his grandfather saying their goodbyes—Marius leaving for a class at the university and his grandfather to do 'business' in town, much to Éponine's private disappointment. She could have stayed in the company of Marius for as long as he would have her, although the stealing glances between he and Cosette were enough to knot her stomach. She hated catching those quiet moments of adoration that so often passed between them. What she wouldn't give to have Marius look at her in such a way.

_If only once..._

"Shall we take a stroll?" Cosette asked her after a short period of silence followed the men's departures.

Éponine nodded and followed Marius's other half into a pleasant backyard that sprouted with vibrant blossoms and hedges. It was the end of August, and the heat was rather intolerable, but Cosette showed no signs of discomfort as they strolled together, at first without speaking before the pretty blonde broke the silence with a question.

"Are you settling in well?"

That question shook Éponine to the quick. _'Settling in'?_ she thought, alarmed. She certainly didn't think she would be encouraged to stay another night.

"Oh! I..."

"You _are_ planning to stay, aren't you?"

"St - Stay?"

"Well, naturally," Cosette giggled, as if the answer should be an obvious one. "You don't wish to return to... Well, where you were, do you?"

"I... Well..."

"Or do you already have a place to stay?"

"I... No, not at present, Madame."

"_Cosette_," she corrected gently and patted Éponine's arm. "Marius was talking last night about... Well, about your unfortunate circumstances. I'd like to pluck you out of such a horrible place. I remember it well, and when my father came for me..." Cosette sighed and gave Éponine a rather downcast smile. "Well, he saved me from ruin. He plucked me out of the darkness and gave me a better life. You should have the same opportunity, Éponine. I'd like that for you."

Éponine jolted and ceased walking. None of Cosette's unprecedented kindness was making sense to her. They had never gotten on well as children, and her own parents had seen to treating Éponine well above the fetching young lady before her, as she wasn't their own. Éponine, too, wasn't opposed to the greater attention she received, at least whilst her mother and father were halfway decent towards her in her youth.

"I - I don't understand," she found herself confiding aloud.

"Understand?" Cosette eyed her curiously.

"We... My parents were very unkind to you, and I..."

Cosette regarded her seriously, though her crystal-blue eyes were warm and inviting. "You were a child, Éponine, as was I. I bear you no ill will. I hope I've made that clear."

"Yes, you have, and... And I'm very grateful, but..."

Éponine found herself at a loss for words. She stared down at the ground, unable to look upon Cosette and all of her boundless generosity. Either the lady was playing Éponine for a fool, and still saw her as nothing more than a street rat, or she saw something else—_someone better_—and, even if she didn't believe it herself, Éponine could sense the sincerity in Cosette's manner.

"I believe my husband wishes to discuss it with you more in person, so I will naturally leave the details of your remaining here to him. I do hope you'll stay. It's an opportunity to make a fresh start, and one I think you should take; it likely won't come your way again."

"I..." Falling short of speaking, Éponine bowed her head and peered up at Cosette timidly. "Thank you, Mada—_Cosette._ I... I hardly know what to say."

A light pressing of the woman's hand to Éponine's shoulder assured her that nothing need be conveyed. When she met Cosette's sympathetic gaze, she found the young lady beaming, though she didn't know why, and with a charming glow that was entirely her own.

"Then say nothing," Cosette whispered, easing an arm through hers.

Éponine remained quiet, though slightly more at ease, and allowed Cosette to lead her through the garden for the good part of an hour. Together, the two ambled about, taking in the vast greenery and magnificent splendor of Monsieur Gillenormand's hoard of rich, colorful flowers.

* * *

"How is he?" was the first question Marius asked upon his return later that afternoon.

Éponine had been left to her own devices following hers and Cosette's casual stroll through the garden, and, not really knowing what to do with herself—and not wishing to intrude further upon the large house that wasn't her own—Éponine retreated to her room for a time. When she heard footsteps echoing down the hallway, she peered out of her door to find Cosette on her way down the stairs, and her host informed her that she had been checking in on Marius's friend to ensure that he was all right.

Who that friend was, however, Éponine still didn't know. The reminder was beginning to aggravate her, though.

"He was quite tired last I checked, darling."

Marius's mouth drooped. "Yes, he was this morning too when I looked in on him..."

Cosette took his hand in hers, staring up at him from her comfortable recline in a chair, as Éponine looked on from her own perch across the room. "Remember your own fight," Cosette replied with a soft smile. "It was quite an uphill battle for you; it's the same for him."

"Yes, but _his_ fight is quite different from mine."

"I know, my love, but don't lose faith, or it will certainly affect his recovery."

"Yes, I know." Marius smiled down at his wife before reaching down to place a tender kiss on her mouth. Éponine looked away, feeling a sudden stabbing pain in her chest. "You're right, as always, my dear."

"Of course I am," Cosette giggled close to his face.

For a moment, it was as if Éponine were not present. _Just as before_, she reflected, her frown deepening. _Why would you expect that to change, Éponine?_

Marius caught the flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and finally realized that he and his wife weren't alone. "My apologies, Éponine. Did you have a good time today?"

"It's all right, Monsieur Marius; and I did, thank you. Madame was kind enough to show me around the garden."

"Yes," Cosette agreed, tittering happily, "and we almost caught heat stroke before deciding to smartly return to the house."

"Very smart, indeed," Marius chuckled; he rose to his full height but kept his hand intertwined with Cosette's.

"I'm afraid your story may have to wait, Éponine. I really should check on Enjolras and see how he's faring."

_Enjolras?_ Éponine breathed._ A name at last!_

And it was a name she recognized instantly. The surprise on her face was unpreventable. After all, she had long assumed the man to be dead; the leader of the revolution—the fierce freedom fighter, dressed in a fine crimson waistcoat that seemed to symbolize the very sacrifice of his rebellion—had gone down with his brothers, or so that was what Éponine was told before her own version of things became fuzzy and unclear.

"_Enjolras?_" she murmured in awe, her shoulders straightening at the name. "But he... But I thought... He was the last man standing that day, wasn't he? I - I heard he was shot several times?"

Marius, understanding that Éponine wasn't privy to the story of his good friend's remarkable survival, firmly shook his head. "No, Éponine," he drawled with a smirk, "Enjolras is very much alive. Well, he isn't at all well, but he's alive, and staying in this house until he recovers."

Éponine looked away, her mouth still hanging open, hardly able to believe it. Her curiosity about this 'guest' had risen now that she could finally put a face to his name.

"So, you see," Marius continued, his smile broadening, "we have more than one sensational survival story that's come out of all of this..."

* * *

**A/N# 2: As previously stated, things will progress slowly, but it's a start! **

**See that review box below? -ahem- _"Won't you say? Will you tell?"_ **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you so much for the feedback! It really _does_ make a difference to this whole process hearing from you, the readers, and I'm honored to be on your Alerts and/or Favs lists as well. _Onward!_ **

**Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

_**"Did you see them lying where they died? Someone used to cradle them and kiss them when they cried..."  
-Les Misérables**_

* * *

_A burst of light momentarily obstructed his vision, and Enjolras raised his arm to shield his eyes. The fierce pounding of his heart was so great that he was sure it might burst; or was that merely the sound of the canons breaking through their barriers? Perhaps it was the bullets being fired to his left and right, missing him narrowly by inches. How quickly a man could be brought down by centimeters of lead.  
_

_Once his eyesight cleared, Enjolras found himself face to face with one of the enemy overrunning the barricade—_his _barricade—and he reacted on instinct. His musket was near empty, and a man in uniform, who couldn't be much older than Enjolras himself, had his musket aimed directly at his chest. Enjolras pushed the gun aside just as it fired and missed. He slammed his fist hard into the soldier's face, hitting him between the eyes, and the solider slumped over where he was, either unconscious or dead, but the pain that shot through Enjolras's knuckles on impact was acute._

_"THERE'S MORE MEN! THERE'S MORE MEN, ENJOLRAS!" someone was screaming at the top of his lungs._

_Enjolras made a quick survey of the scene. An overwhelming array of red, white, and blue was marching towards he and his brothers, their guns raised high and their swords drawn. 'This is it,' he thought fleetingly, before two more soldiers appeared at the top of the barricade. Enjolras's adrenaline kicked in like a wildfire, and, drawing his sword, he sent the tip of his blade into the soft flesh of the soldier to his right and kicked the musket of the other away with his boot, enough to send the man flying over the barricade. A second severe punt to the head toppled the soldier over completely, where another freedom fighter, Joly, delivered a bullet to his brain. Blood splattered, its overpowering stench assaulting Enjolras's senses. The soldier had never even stood a chance._

_Then again, neither had he or his friends. This was their death march; the final battle. Only it was all going to hell in a hand basket.  
_

_The great buzz of cries and shouts mixed with the firing of guns put Enjolras off balance. "ENJOLRAS!" several of them cried; some strong tugging at his arms or coattails pulled him away from the top of the barricade at last, just as more soldiers came charging through._

_"PLEASE!" some of the men—his friends—screamed towards the heavens, or, rather, the closed shudders of occupied flats that lined the street from whence the barricade had sprung. Some were even pounding on the doors and weeping like children. "PLEASE! HELP US!" they begged with tears in their eyes, but their desperate cries for refuge went unanswered._

_Enjolras seized those he could by the shoulders and pulled them away towards the café. "Back!" he ordered amidst the chaos, to anyone who would listen. Several bodies already lined the cobble-stone street, dead or wounded, Enjolras knew not. There was no time to pick out the living from the fallen. The sight and smell of blood was overwhelming._

_"We've got to barricade the door!" one of them exclaimed, as men ran and screamed to and fro._

_"THEY'RE COMING!"_

_"We've got no ammunition!"_

_"Help me, for God's sake! HELP ME!"_

_"IT'S LOST, MEN! WE'RE DONE FOR!"_

_The wails, the never-ending howls of doom, shook Enjolras to the core. He was supposed to be strong—he was their leader, after all—but their shouts of distress were so great and so fierce, and the fear so prevalent in their eyes, that it was all Enjolras could do not to crumble to the floor._

_'You brought them to this...'_

_It was the only bitter reflection his mind could grasp at, as his brothers lay dying, scattered and divided, the enemy driving them backward into a trap. Before he was aware of his own steps, Enjolras found himself on the upper floor of the café, where he and the Les Amis de l'ABC had plotted their glorious revolution, the days of which seemed to stretch out for all eternity, in which France would be reborn and renewed._

_'Look upon that world now, Enjolras... What do you see?'_

_The soldiers had broken through the lower level with ease, and the atmosphere had gone eerily quiet. The soft pattering of the enemies' boots below made those up top with Enjolras—Joly, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac—quake and whimper like children, hovered together in fear. Enjolras's heart was pounding furiously, never more alive than in this moment._

_Shots were fired, and Enjolras rattled and shook. His three friends, alive only moments ago, now lay dead at his feet. Yet, Enjolras was untouched, though his boots rooted to the spot near a large, open window. There was nowhere to go.  
_

_'No path but to God Almighty...'_

_For a split moment, the sole freedom fighter still standing, with his golden locks and angelic face, turned his head towards the East and gazed out upon the rising sun that peeked through the darkened alleyway, soaking it in gentle spotlight. There, Enjolras looked down upon his stormed barricade, at the countless dead bodies, both enemies and brothers in arms, blood-soaked and done for. This place had once held such promise and resistance but was now disintegrated, brought to nothing but ash and dust._

_Enjolras could smell the blood rising from the earth, the rotting flesh, the sulfur and gunpowder. 'Yes,' he thought, hearing the approaching soldiers marching up the steps to put an end to his rebellion. 'This is it...'_

_Enjolras reluctantly turned his head away from the window to face the swarm of red, white, and blue. Their muskets were raised, though it would take only one of them to pierce his flesh and kill him on the spot._

_As Enjolras braced himself to meet his end, a familiar face suddenly emerged amongst the deadly weaponry: Grantaire. He had awoken from his drunken stupor, but there was a soberness in his eyes, a fire unlike any Enjolras had ever seen. He frowned as his friend approached him, until he realized Grantaire's intentions before they echoed from his mouth._

_"I wish to be shot with Enjolras," he insisted, and the commander nodded in accordance to the man's final wish._

_In that moment, Enjolras was relieved. He wouldn't be going out of this world alone. A brother, a true and loyal friend, would be by his side. They would meet their Maker together. He and Grantaire stood at attention, and, slowly, Enjolras raised the French flag grasped tightly in his hand._

_'Yes... This is it...'_

_"Vive la France!" he bellowed._

_The shots rang out, followed by a flash of white light, and Enjolras felt two blows hit him in the chest and abdomen, and another two bullets scrape his shoulders. He stumbled backward over the railing of the open window._

_And then everything went black._

Enjolras shot up in bed, uncertain if he had cried out in his sleep or if it had only been in his nightmare. Pearls of sweat dripped from his forehead and his breathing was strenuous as he came to. His hand instinctively reached to touch where the bullets had struck.

Enjolras blinked, soaking in his darkened surroundings. It was nighttime, with the faint moonlight pouring into his bedroom. His body gradually began to relax. He was alive. He wasn't back at the café, trapped on that upper floor where he was sure he was about to face his death.

Just as he began to relax, Enjolras's twinkling eyes fell upon a moving shadow at the doorway to his room. The door was slightly ajar, although it shouldn't be. It was always left closed. Then, it dawned on Enjolras that the shadow he was looking at wasn't a shadow at all but a figure, and it was staring back at him. His eyes widened in alarm, and only more so when whoever it was let out a faint gasp and made an escape. He could hear the person's feet skid along the wooden floorboards as he or she pounded away out of sight.

"What the hell..."

* * *

"So, you were wounded in the stomach, my dear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Surely, cleansing such a wound must've been difficult?"

"It was, Monsieur Gillenormand, yes."

Éponine set her fork aside, resounding that she wouldn't be getting to take a bite of her hot meal. She had been interrogated all of dinner by Marius and his grandfather, who were hungry for details about her survival, whilst Cosette looked on across the table from her, quietly encouraging her to speak when prompted.

"How on earth did you manage to get to a doctor?"

Éponine discretely twisted her hands together in her lap. "Well, Monsieur, I... I confess I don't remember all of what went on in those early days. I remember passing out, then awakening during the ambush. Someone had tended to my wounds—I believe it was one of the women, another sympathizer. She must've realized I was still breathing... I had so many bandages wrapped around my torso that it was difficult to move or breathe.

"I crawled, stopping often because it was too painful to move, but also I was getting trampled on by both sides. It was all rather chaotic, Monsieur. Somehow though, I fought my way free to the other side. None of the soldiers noticed me. I suppose they simply took me for..."

Éponine let her words trail off. The elderly gentleman to her right, Monsieur Gillenormand, merely nodded for her to carry on with her story and kept his face blank.

"There's a nunnery not far from the café. I... I'm not sure how I managed to crawl my way there, but I did. I suppose someone on the street or one of the convents discovered me and took me in. They sent for a doctor. All I remember is waking up three days later. The bullet had been removed, but I was weak and had lost a great deal of blood and strength. The nuns said if I hadn't been wrapped in bandages straightaway that I surely would've died."

"It _is_ remarkable that you survived, Mademoiselle."

"I feel most grateful, Monsieur."

Marius angled his head curiously. "When were you well enough to the leave the nunnery, Éponine?"

"Only some three or four days ago."

_And only because I was determined to ensure that you were still alive..._

Cosette unexpectedly raised her glass of wine. "Well, we're grateful you're alive and on the mend, Éponine," she stated with such grace and civility, in a manner Éponine still couldn't quite believe. Marius and his grandfather additionally raised a toast to her health, causing her to blush and avert her eyes to her unconsumed dish.

"What of your family?"

Monsieur Gillenormand's question made Éponine jerk. "They - They're well, Monsieur," she choked out.

"Surely, they must be worried about your welfare? You were in a nunnery for some two months. I assume you had communication with them?"

"I..." Éponine caught Marius's eye and then Cosette's, who was giving her a sympathetic look that she didn't care for. "No," she mumbled under her breath, hoping the conversation would move on from there.

Monsieur Gillenormand wasn't ready to concede, however. He put down his fork and eyed Éponine critically.

"You mean to tell me you've had no contact whatsoever with your family these past months, Mademoiselle?"

"That - That's correct, Monsieur."

"Why ever not? They must be worried sick about you."

"I... Erm, well... No, Monsieur. I - I'm sure, at this point, that they believe I'm dead."

_And I'd prefer to keep it that way._

Monsieur Gillenormand's eyes widened. "Then why on earth haven't you contacted them? That's most bizarre that you wouldn't notify your family of your whereabouts."

Before she could explain, however, Marius thankfully interceded. "Grandfather, please," he insisted in a hushed tone, giving the old man a look that meant for him to desist. Luckily, Monsieur Gillenormand took his grandson's hint, though not without a lingering expression of puzzlement.

"Éponine, would you care for a tour of the house?"

Éponine's eyes lit up immediately at Marius's kind gesture, as well as an excuse to dismiss herself from Monsieur Gillenormand's relentless interrogation. "Oh, yes, Monsieur Marius, that would be wonderful!"

"Come."

As Marius rose from his chair, he turned thoughtfully to Cosette, who took his hand in hers. "I'll check on Enjolras; see how he's doing," she assured him in her gentle way.

That name stopped Éponine in her tracks. She had stayed up half the night wondering about the peculiar gentleman in question. Though she had only been at the house two days, both nights she had heard cries coming from down the hall. On the second night, she decided to investigate the source of the sound, which led her directly to Enjolras's bed chambers, where she found the familiar, sandy-haired gentleman tossing and turning in bed—almost violently. She didn't expect him to wake up and fled when his eyes spotted her hidden in the shadows. Cosette's mentioning of the man made her cheeks redden.

_What if he mentions that I was there?_

Marius interrupted her worries, beckoning her to follow him out of the room and down the hallway. The estate was vast and refined, tastefully decorated with rich, earthly-colored furnishings. After falling into comfortable conversation for some time about Marius's family history and the estate, which Éponine found immensely fascinating—nothing about Marius _wasn't_ to her—he surprised her by turning the tables on her, as they walked along a corridor covered in vibrant tapestries and family portraits.

"Does your family truly believe you're dead?" he asked most casually.

Éponine stopped, finding herself staring into a pair of intrigued eyes that were well attuned to her circumstances. "I..." Éponine found herself confessing rather easily, "No, Monsieur Marius, they don't."

"Just Marius, remember?" he corrected her with a handsome smirk, and to which she returned his smile.

"_Marius._ I - I don't want them to know. If they found out I was alive or that I've come here..."

"I understand. I think it's for the best." Marius led their walk forward, though he kept a reasonable pace. "What will you do now that you're on your own?"

Éponine sensed this coming. Cosette had been good enough to inform her of it the previous day, and, now, she found herself thankful for the forewarning. _That charming Cosette_, she reflected with a scowl, her bitterness surfacing despite her best efforts.

"I... I confess I'm not sure, Mons—_Marius._ I can't take further advantage of your hospitality, though. You've been so kind to me, you and..." She swallowed hard. "Cosette. I'm most grateful to you both, and to your grandfather, for letting me stay here."

"That's what I wanted to discuss with you, Éponine."

Marius stopped and faced her head on with his hands placed firmly behind his back. Éponine folded hers in front of her and tried not to appear as nervous as she felt. Spending several days in Marius's presence made her realize how much she didn't want to leave again. There was also the harsh-hitting fact that she truly had nowhere to go.

"Yes?" she pressed, hoping the urgency in her voice escaped his notice.

"I think you should make a fresh start, Éponine."

Her brown eyes looked into his, this time filled with hope. "A - A fresh start?"

Marius smiled warmly, making her heart flutter. "Yes," he insisted. "We could take you in. Cosette could instruct you, you'd have a roof over your head, and you'd never go hungry again. In exchange, perhaps you could help us with occasional errands and some general household duties that need attention. We have a maid, Molly, whom you've met, and a caretaker, Tom, who do the majority of the housework and outside maintenance, but there are other duties I'm sure Cosette could use a second pair of hands to help with."

"Oh... Well, I..."

Éponine could hardly believe such good fortunate. In all her years, she had never been presented with the opportunity to actually better her life. In her world—the world of the _le Miserables_—such opportunities were not to be born. They died out at infancy, never to resurface.

How was this possible? She couldn't fully comprehend yet what was happening but could sense the world shifting beneath her feet, and, for the first time, it was for the better. She smiled up at him, enthused and appreciative all at once.

"Oh, Monsieur, I - I don't know what to say..."

Marius extended his smile. "Then say _'yes,'_ Éponine."

The two of them shared a giggle, and Éponine found herself caught off guard by his quiet, breathless laughter. She had heard it a dozen times before, and yet, hearing it now was a comfort she hadn't realized she missed.

"I... I would be most grateful, Monsieur Marius. Y - Yes."

"_Marius_, Éponine," he chuckled, not completely understanding the magnitude of his offer, or so Éponine thought. He enfolded his hand over her shoulder. "I'll need to discuss the details further with Grandfather. We only briefly touched upon it this morning at breakfast.

"I haven't told him much about your circumstances, Éponine, or your family, for that matter. I'm afraid I'll have to be much more forthright with Grandfather from here on, and I wanted to give you fair warning. I know of your parents, Éponine. They made an unexpected visit at our wedding."

Éponine's eyes went from bright to horrified in an instant. "Oh, no! Oh... Mon—Marius, I'm so sorry! I'm so terribly—"

"Don't apologize, Éponine." Marius firmly shook his head. "Your parents' conduct is not _your_ responsibility. I know that they looked after Cosette when she was young, because she and her late father told me. And it was only when discussing you after... Well, after everything that went down, that Cosette told me she knew you as well. She only recently explained yours and her upbringing to me. I... I'm not blind, Éponine. I've known things weren't well with you, but I... I saw no way of changing it on my own. I was a fool. I thought our revolution would change everything; that it would change your circumstances for you..."

Marius clamped up and turned away from her, releasing his hand from her shoulder and staring down the empty hallway at nothing in particular. Éponine stepped forward. She longed to touch his face, to feel the delicacy of his skin, but refrained.

"I know, Marius," she offered in a sad whisper. "I suspected you knew more about me than I wanted you to. I mean..." She shifted awkwardly and peered down at the used, green shoes on her feet; it felt odd to no longer be barefoot, and she was quite surprised that she and Cosette were roughly the same size in all manner of things. "One only has to look at people like me to know the truth."

Éponine gazed up at him again and forced a smile. "I know you tried to make things better, Marius. You and...Enjolras, is that his name?"

"Yes." Marius cracked a smile as well, though Éponine could tell it was false, as though he were trying to suppress certain dark thoughts that were evident behind his eyes.

"I'd like to meet him," Éponine pressed, mostly in an effort to get off the painful topic of her family.

To her statement, Marius's demeanor suddenly brightened. "And you shall! I daresay he's probably sick of having nothing but the three of us for company."

"How is he?" Éponine encouraged the talk further as they continued their mindless stroll of the house. "Is he well?"

"Alas, no," Marius sighed, "but he's getting there. He's been suffering bad bouts of fever since he arrived, but the fevers seem to be ending."

"That's very good news."

"I hope so."

"How did he come to be here?"

"I sent for him." Marius led her up the spiral staircase towards her room, climbing the steps slowly so as to extend their talk. "When I was still laid up in hospital, my grandfather sent out inquiries to look for any survivors. I suspected there wouldn't be any, and those two days were agonizing, waiting on what I assumed would be false hope.

"They found Enjolras barely alive back in his own flat. God only knows how he got there. He was being looked after by a woman of no notoriety, and I wonder if she did him more damage than good. He'd refused to go to the hospital himself for fear of being picked up by the police."

"How awful." Éponine drew a puzzling sort of frown as they reached the second floor. "How did he manage to escape?"

"I hardly know. He's been too sick to give me the story. I'm anxious to hear it myself."

"I'm sure it's quite a tale," Éponine grinned, keeping pace with Marius as they rounded a corner and came to her guest quarters. "I look forward to hearing everything, and meeting your dear friend, Marius. He was quite something at your meetings. I remember them well."

"You do?" Marius's eyes searched hers with interest. "They _were_ quite something, weren't they?"

"Yes... Very."

And just like that, the intensity to Marius's gaze was gone, as if cast out like a flame. He straightened and presented her with another one of his less than genuine smiles.

"Well, I'll talk to Grandfather soon. I need to see to my friend, too; we haven't spoken since this afternoon."

Éponine's regard softened. "You're very kind to look after him, Marius."

"It's the least I can do. Enjolras is like a brother to me, and when my grandfather cast me out for a time, it was Enjolras who took me in. You could very well say I owe him, just as I owe you."

Éponine wrung her hands together and averted her eyes to the floor. "I've told you, Marius, you don't owe me anything. I daresay your friend would say the same." She was surprised when he laughed—a loud, robust chuckle that made her angle her head in curiosity.

"You're right," he confessed, his infectious smile returning, "he does; he tells me so all the time."

"Well, perhaps there's some truth to what we say."

"No," Marius insisted, and his gaze became thoughtful. "Only generous people who help others without expectation of anything in return say things like that."

Not knowing how to answer, but finding her face flushing, Éponine bowed politely and said her goodnight. As Marius turned to leave, however, a pressing thought came to Éponine and she spun around. It was now or never, and it was the reason she had come. She had been waiting to continue their conversation from that night before the barricade ambush, so she sucked in a breath and called out to him.

"Marius!" He met her gaze, waiting. "I - I've been wanting to ask you...about that night..." Marius merely kept his eyes on her, and Éponine realized she was going to have to be more courageous than she wanted. "What I said to you... How I felt..."

Marius blinked and stepped closer. Éponine searched his face, and her heart was nearly pounding out of her chest.

"Éponine, it's all right," he whispered as gently as possible. "It all happened so fast, and you thought you were dying. People sometimes say things in the heat of the moment they don't mean. You needn't be worried."

Éponine felt her breath stall, and not in a good way. She tried not to let the hurt show, but the pain in her chest was agonizing, as though her heart were being squeezed too tight.

"Oh... I..."

She quickly looked away, feeling the prickling sensation of tears forming in her eyes. Her throat was constricting, too, as was a heat trickling up her neck and onto her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Éponine," Marius apologized and grabbed her arm. "I didn't mean to upset you by discussing that night. I - I imagine it has to be quite horrible to remember. Do forgive me?"

Éponine took several calculated breaths, willing herself not to break down and cry. _So little he sees, even now... Even after I confessed everything..._

Éponine chewed her bottom lip and hesitantly met his eyes, hoping she wouldn't start crying on the spot. She was stronger than she realized, though, for she managed to keep the tears at bay.

"You needn't apologize, Marius," she forced the words out. "_I'm_ the one who brought it up. I'm sorry."

_Sorry I ever told you how I feel about you..._

"Well, it's all right now. _You're_ all right. That's what's important."

"Yes..."

The silence stretched out before them for too long. Marius adjusted his waist coat and bid her another goodnight. He caught her subtle attempt to reach out and take his arm, however, and hesitated.

"Yes?" she asked curiously.

"I - I'm sorry. I had a question for you, Marius."

"What is it?"

The lovesick girl buried within longed for Marius to scoop her up in his arms again, just as he had cradled her that night at the barricades, and confess that he returned her love and affection, but the miserable grownup side knew that wasn't to be. He had already dismissed her feelings as nothing more than an illusion, and it had always been painfully clear that he never thought much more of her than that of a friend.

_Or his messenger_, she lamented to herself.

Éponine sucked in another breath, suspecting she wasn't going to like what she was told. "Why _me_, Marius? Why are you helping me? I... I don't understand..."

Marius returned her question with another attractive smile, one that made her legs melt against the door to her bedroom. She found it suddenly trying to stand here, both so close and so far away from the man that she loved.

"Because I owe you, Éponine," he replied, "as I've told you before. I owe you a great deal, and I think this is the best way to repay you: a second shot at a better life. I think it's the least you deserve."

With that, Marius glided away, leaving Éponine breathless where she stood, contemplating his heavy-handed words that lingered in the air long after he left. They weren't declarations of love, but, to her desperate way of thinking, they were of another kind of affection, and just as potent as any amorous confession could be.

_Or perhaps you're just fooling yourself_ again_, Éponine!_

One thing was certain, however: Marius Pontmercy, the man she hopelessly loved, was going to change her circumstances. Forever.

* * *

Éponine was awoken in the middle of the night by the same unsettling sounds coming from down the hall, where she now knew the former revolutionist to reside. They were faint, for the most part, and, at times, Éponine was tempted to climb out of bed and investigate again, only she had been caught the night before doing so. If the man awoke and found her hovering just outside his bedroom, he would surely think her unstable, perhaps even tell Marius and his wife.

_If he hasn't already..._

After listening to the man cry out for nearly an hour, Éponine huffed in defeat and sat up with the blankets wrapped around her tiny frame. Night terrors were something she understood all too well, and the poor man's cries of distress weren't worth letting go on for too long. She also desired sleep and wasn't about to get any if she heard _that_ all night.

It wasn't surprising to Éponine that no one else could hear the gentleman's nightmares echoing from down the hallway. The guest quarters were on the opposite end of the large house, far away from Marius, Cosette, or Monsieur Gillenormand to overhear and come running to aid.

Éponine resolved quickly that this would have to be her doing. She had lost her opportunity the night before, but lack of sleep made her bolder than usual, and, thus, she wrapped an old shawl of Cosette's around her shoulders and reluctantly eased out of bed, hissing when her toes met the cold floorboards. It may have been summer, but nights could still get chilly enough to warrant a gripe or two.

_It's better than where you resided only two months ago, Éponine_, she reminded herself as she crept out the door and down the hallway, her feet barely making a sound.

She paused at the door to inhale nervously before entering the man's room. She could hear him tossing and turning and, sure enough, found him entangled within the bed sheets, mumbling incoherently. The door creaked as she made to close it, and, for a moment, she startled, thinking she may have awoken Enjolras, but then he began crying out again in sleep, and her body relaxed, though only temporarily; Enjolras's night terrors were unsettling to behold, and seeing them with her own eyes made them worse.

Éponine approached the bed with caution, not really sure of what to do. If she woke him, she risked being seen indecent. Her intentions would probably also be misconstrued. She didn't know him and he certainly didn't know her, and finding a stranger standing next to his bed in the middle of the night would probably send the wrong message.

But then, allowing the man to continue thrashing about and whimpering in his sleep didn't sit well with her either. Éponine observed the man quietly at a distance. With her eyes well adjusted to the dark, and the faint trickling of moon light seeping through the window, Éponine could make out his sharp features, even with the shadows that danced across his face.

Enjolras was scruffier than she remembered, though that was hardly unexpected. He also looked like a man who had been through something terrible. His face was paler and his cheeks were sunken in, but he was still a good-looking fellow. His blonde curls were messier than she remembered, but his head had evidently been tossing back and forth for some time.

Suddenly, Enjolras called out into the darkness and his entire body twitched. "Get...out..." he moaned.

Éponine jerked where she stood, panicking for a moment until it dawned on her that his eyes were still closed. She inched closer and tentatively reached out to him when his upper body flinched again and she reared back, prepared to run out of the room.

"Get...out...now..."

"En - Enjolras?" she chanced speaking, thinking he might wake.

"I...said...get out... Get...somewhere...safe..."

Éponine froze. Why did that command some eerily familiar? She stared down at Enjolras, confusion marring her brow, as he carried on rolling his head back and forth.

"This...is it... No... NO!" Éponine leaned forward and delicately touched his exposed arm, praying he would calm down. "No," he continued to moan against his pillow, "Joly... Courfeyrac... My friends..."

Éponine carefully sat down at the edge of his bed. Her heart was pounding, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was the nervous possibility of waking the gentleman up, the thought of him finding her there, or of him spotting her in nothing but her nightgown, which clung to her figure and left her more exposed than she would have liked. She gulped down her reservations, however, and began rubbing her small hand up and down the length of his forearm.

"I'm sorry," he whispered repeatedly, each time fainter than the last. "I'm sorry..."

Something in his pain-filled apology tugged at Éponine's insides. His voice sounded so fragile, like glass, ready to shatter into a million pieces. She didn't know the man well at all, but in the few encounters she had had with the revolutionist, she couldn't recall him looking or sounding so utterly defeated, and, for whatever reason, it saddened her.

It took several minutes to realize that, along with his perpetual apologizing, Enjolras was also soundlessly crying. She witnessed a small teardrop fall from his face and stilled momentarily. She wanted to brush it away but suspected she would wake him if she did. He wouldn't want to be seen like this either, she concluded; so, she continued rubbing her hand up and down his arm in a gentle, repetitious rhythm, until Enjolras was no longer softly crying or moaning but sleeping quietly and comfortably.

After a while, Éponine ceased and drew back from the bed. For reasons she couldn't account for, she was rather reluctant to leave him.

_What if the night terrors start again? Perhaps you should stay... No, what if he wakes up? He shouldn't see you like this. You shouldn't be here. Go back to your room. Quickly!_

Éponine bit her lip and started to make her way towards the door when another thought came to her. She turned around and stared at the sleeping stranger.

_Then again, would _you_ want to be left alone with your nightmares, Éponine?_

Sighing, Éponine quietly resolved to stay and sunk into a sofa chair next to Enjolras's bed. She curled her knees against her chest and wrapped her shawl more securely around herself, snuggling into a ball and watching Enjolras sleep. She had never seen someone sleep peacefully, but it would seem that was now the case. His strong, angular jaw was relaxed and his eyelashes fluttered every so often, but he otherwise didn't move or moan.

_That was relatively easy._ Between the lull of Enjolras's steady breathing and the breakdown of her own exhaustion, Éponine found her eyelids drooping. _Just a few more minutes_, she told her herself, _and then go back to your room... Just a few more minutes..._

Éponine's head slumped against the back of the chair, and, a minute or two later, she was softly snoring, her comfortable breathing matching Enjolras's as the pair of them slept soundly.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Your feedback has been making all the difference, so thank you! Please don't stop. Each one is like being rewarded for my efforts, and they mean so much to me. :) **

**Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**_"One day to a new beginning..."_**  
**_-Les Misérables_**

* * *

Enjolras awoke at dawn. The sun was only beginning to rise, painting his room in a warm, pink-tinted glow; just enough to lighten up the room and will the shadows away. There was a wave of calm and tranquility this morning unlike any other he had experienced in a long while, and, for a moment, it utterly confused him.

Enjolras stretched beneath the covers before drawing them up against his head. He was about to doze off again when something faint reached his ears. Was that..._snoring?_

Enjolras's weary eyes shot open, alerted to the strange sound and the fact that he wasn't alone in his bedroom. "Marius, what the hell are you doing he—" he grumbled and threw back the covers, only to stop himself short of finishing his question.

Someone was indeed in the room with him, but not anyone he would have ever expected. A small being was coiled snug as could be in the sofa chair next to his bed, her face obstructed by a mound of thick, dark brown tresses that cascaded past her shoulders and down her back. Her neck was arched at such an angle as to look extremely uncomfortable. Despite her awkward sleeping position, however, the woman—or girl, he couldn't be sure—was softly snoring, passed out to the world and to him.

"Excuse me?" he called to her, narrowing his eyes with suspicion. Whoever this female was, she had no right intruding upon his personal space. When the young lady didn't react and only continued to dose uninterrupted, he spoke louder, "Excuse me, Mademoiselle? Excuse... _Hey!_"

Éponine startled and her head jerked out of hiding, her tired eyes searching the room for any signs of awareness as to where she was. Slowly, the remembrance dawned on her, and her eyes widened when they fell upon Enjolras, asleep last she checked but now awake and scrutinizing her through intensive, icy blue eyes.

"Oh!" she exclaimed and unfurled her legs that were stiffened from being bent most of the night.

As tired and caught off her guard as she may be, she fleetingly concluded that Enjolras was better looking in daylight. Even with being worse for the wear, his complexion held more color this morning, and his lean frame seemed relatively fit for having sustained gunshot wounds. She could see traces of torn flesh on his chest that peeked through his v-shaped night shirt. His rich voice, both genteel and robust, quickly interrupted her private musings, however.

"What are you doing in my room?"

Even if her intentions had been innocent, she knew she was now blushing profusely. She hadn't even become aware yet that she was still in a nightgown, one that hugged her body in all the ways it shouldn't in front of a strange man.

"I..." she started, not quite sure what to say.

Enjolras's eyebrows rose high on his head. "Yes?"

"I... Erm..."

"Are you unable to speak?"

Affronted, Éponine blinked and narrowed her eyes. "Of course I can speak!"

"Then answer my question: what are you doing here?"

"Well..."

"Hang on." He searched her face anew, the few lines around his eyes and the corner of his mouth stretching. "Do I know you?"

Éponine panicked and shifted about in her chair, wrapping her shawl more tightly around herself. "No... I - I don't think so."

Enjolras frowned, his eyebrows knitting together and making the features of his face even sharper. "Oh... Well, I'm _still_ awaiting an answer to my question."

"I... I'm sorry," the words stammered out of her in a rush, "I'm staying down the hall from you and I overheard..."

Catching the peculiar flicker in his bright eyes, she wasn't sure if she should continue or simply run out of the room. Instead, she bit her bottom lip, willing herself to speak up.

"You have nightmares. I have them too. I wasn't sure if I should wake you or let you sleep. You calmed down after a time that I was in here, and I had every intention of just, erm, staying a little while to make sure you were all right but..." Éponine's brown eyes sheepishly scanned her surroundings. "I guess I fell asleep in your chair. It - It was unintentional, Monsieur, I swear it! I'm very sorry to have disturbed you. I'll - I'll just go."

Éponine stumbled to stand, forgetting that her legs were stiff and still half asleep, and nearly tripped over herself flying for the door. She had nearly made it when Enjolras called out to her to halt.

"Wait a moment, Mademoiselle—"

Éponine whipped her head around to face him and blurted out, "Please don't call me that," before she could stop herself.

Enjolras stared on, bewildered, though Éponine could understand why. _Damn you for falling asleep, Éponine!_ she cursed herself. _What on earth were you thinking?_

Unbeknownst to her, however, Enjolras was taken aback for reasons other than waking to find a strange lady dressed in nothing but a hip-hugging nightgown next to his bed. Not only did he not know who she was, even though her face looked relatively familiar, but she apparently was no lady either. She certainly was pretty enough to pass for a Mademoiselle, not that he had ever had time to pay any mind to the peculiarities that were women.

Her flushed, round cheeks and half-messy waves, a few strands of which fell in her eyes, projected a sweet radiance that caught Enjolras by surprise, though only for a moment. He cleared his throat and was about to say something when the curious young woman cut him off a second time.

"Again, I - I'm very sorry to have disturbed you, Monsieur. Forgive me."

Éponine abruptly turned on her heel and scurried out of the room, not even bothering to shut the door behind her as she fled. "Who are you?" he called after her, his voice echoing down the hall. "What is your name?"

Éponine reentered her room, slammed the door, and sunk her weight against the wooden frame, heaving excitedly. _Idiot! Foolish, damnedable idiot!_ she cringed and pounded her head. _Why did you have to fall asleep? Why did you even have to interfere?_

A few minutes later, having been completely absorbed with her thoughts, a light tapping at her door nearly sent Éponine scurrying onto her bed like a skittish animal. She whirled around and gasped, feeling slightly sickened and nervous.

"Who - Who is it?"

"Molly, Miss. Madame Pontmercy has brought over more clothes for you."

Éponine relaxed her shoulders and ran a hand through her unkempt hair, relief washing over her face. "I – I'm coming," she returned.

_Forget about it, Éponine._

* * *

"I'm glad we have this quiet time this morning to talk," said Cosette, smiling as she poured herself and Éponine a hot cup of café au lait, which included rich, creamy milk and tartines smothered in butter and jam.

Éponine had never tasted such glorious food as what she had experienced the past several days in Monsieur Gillenormand's home. She could absolutely get used to the seemingly endless supply of bread, pastries, coffee, and sweet teas. The only matter that disappointed her this morning was not seeing Marius, or even his comically endearing grandfather.

"May I ask where Monsieurs Gillenormand and Marius are this morning?"

"Oh, Marius has class at the university and then works at the family law firm. It's good money for us and helps support his studies."

"I see."

Although she knew Marius was studying to become a lawyer, entering into the family business, Éponine concluded, must have only happened recently. She remembered when Marius used to swear off ever working for his grandfather, promising everyone within earshot that he would "find his own mark in the world." Then again, that had been when his grandfather disowned him.

_How people change_, she mused to herself.

"He's hoping to entice his friend to join once he is well," Cosette interrupted her thoughts.

"Oh?" Éponine felt apprehensive about touching upon the subject of Enjolras after the encounter they shared earlier that morning. "Isn't he a university student as well?"

"He is, yes."

Cosette paused to sip her coffee; it was difficult not to notice every graceful gesture the newlywed made, even as she stirred the milk with her pinky finger raised. Éponine wanted to find it all rather quirky and nonsensical, but, in truth, she was secretly impressed by how well groomed and ladylike Cosette had turned out to be.

_Unlike me..._

She wouldn't even attempt going down the path to admitting to want to imitate the girl. Not by a long shot. Instead, she stirred her coffee her own way, meek and clumsily, and awaited Cosette to continue the conversation.

"Enjolras is a man of no occupation at present. His father squandered his inheritance, but not before he managed to put most of himself through school. He's severed all ties with his family and makes his own way in the world now. I think that's something Marius has always admired about him."

Éponine's ears perked up. It strangely echoed of her own circumstances of late, having broken with her own family and gone on her own path, though it wasn't really in search of something better. Rather, luck, it would seem, dropped right into her lap. She wasn't quite sure yet how she felt about her newfound advantage, but, for the moment, she intended to soak it up and savor every ounce of it for what it was worth.

Thus, Éponine smiled and attempted to engage herself in discussion with Cosette, even if the woman's mere presence could still pain her. She was a constant reminder of everything Éponine wasn't, and likely never would, even though they had come from very similar beginnings. _That_, at least, was somewhat comforting to think on.

"What is he studying?" she asked, curious despite not wishing to recall the awkward morning she and the freedom fight had shared.

"Law, like Marius," Cosette explained as she smoothed out her napkin in her lap. Éponine double-checked her own to ensure it was in place, and that it wouldn't ruin the lovely purple, hand-me-down dress given to her to wear. "They've known each other for years, before they ever went to university. Enjolras is a couple years older than Marius, but I believe Marius looks up to him like an older brother, and Enjolras likewise. They're quite close."

"That's nice. I'd have never guessed they weren't the same age."

"Enjolras had a younger brother. I believe he died in his youth. Perhaps that's why he's always been rather protective of Marius." Cosette smiled fondly and asked, just as Éponine was biting into her buttered bread, "Do you ever speak to your sister?"

"No, I - I haven't. Not since... Since before the barricade."

Éponine could feel her eyes watering. For whatever reason—perhaps it was the mention of Enjolras having a younger brother who died, or the reality finally hitting her that she would never see her sister again—her mind turned to Gavroche, and a sudden pang in her chest swelled to the point that it was too much to bear. Éponine quickly rubbed her eyes and was about to make use of her napkin when a handkerchief was thrust into her hand.

"I'm so sorry, Éponine; I've touched upon a sensitive topic. That was uncivil of me. Please forgive my lapse of judgment."

If Éponine wanted to find fault in Cosette—and she _did_ desperately wish to—her anger was absolved by the lady's sincere apology. "It - It's fine," she mumbled and dabbed the tears away as much as she could. "I lost my younger brother to the barricade. Mar - Marius and Enjolras knew him well. He hung about them and their friends quite often. They were all so very good to him. I... I suppose I haven't grieved properly, and it's all catching up to me." She brushed furiously at the tears that persisted, embarrassed by her raw display of emotion. "I'm s - sorry."

"No, please don't apologize, Éponine," Cosette insisted, reaching out to console her by taking her hand. "I should've treaded more carefully. I... I lost my father not too long ago. Grief comes in many forms and stages, and we all handle loss differently. My apologies."

After wiping away the remainder of her tears, Éponine regarded Cosette with more curiosity. "I'm sorry about your father," she found herself saying, surprised that she indeed meant it.

"Thank you," Cosette returned, giving her another sweet smile, though there was a sadness now perceivable in her eyes. "I'm doing well, though some days are more trying than others. But my father is with God, and that brings me comfort. He was such a good man." She paused to press Éponine's hand. "I'm sorry for your loss too, Éponine."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

They returned to a comfortable silence—daintily sipping their coffees or munching on their breakfasts without much further discussion. Eventually, Cosette broke the quietude with another question.

"That night you saved Marius," she began, taking a moment to survey Éponine's reaction. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"No, of course not," Éponine lied, trying not to showcase her nerves.

Had Marius told Cosette about her confession of love? He had been so quick to dismiss it before, and yet, had he mentioned it to Cosette, Éponine couldn't imagine, as good-natured and forgiving as the newlywed was, that she would be content with such information, knowing Éponine was now residing with them.

"Why did you do it?" Cosette asked, her voice hushed and subdued. "Why did you take a bullet for him? I... I confess it's quite _admirable_ of you to lay down your life like that, but, well, I still don't quite understand it."

Éponine chewed the remainder of her food with extra caution, taking her time to sort out her answer before meeting Cosette's unwavering gaze. "I... I suppose it was excitement. I saw the musket being aimed and Marius was turned away from it; he would never have seen it coming. I... I simply reacted. It wasn't necessarily my intention to aim the gun at myself, more to push it out of harm's way, but... Well, the gun went off, and I was struck in the stomach."

Eventually, Cosette slowly shook her head. "You're very brave, Éponine. Did you know that? I'm not sure I could find the courage to do something like that."

"I daresay you could," Éponine returned after a moment. "When push comes to shove, it's easier than you might imagine."

Cosette cast her eyes to her hands that were hidden and laced together in her lap. "Can I ask you something else?" she pressed more quietly.

Éponine could feel her nerves rising but forced herself to nod. "Yes?"

Cosette's open, blue eyes met Éponine's guarded, brown irises, and there was a shift in them that took Éponine by surprise. Her entire face was freshly laden with skepticism, almost accusatory in her stare.

"Why did you keep my letter from Marius?" she drawled ever so carefully. "I know you gave it to him before... Before you drifted into unconsciousness, but... Why would you keep him from receiving my letter in the first place? Was there some reason? Some explanation I should know about?"

Éponine straightened in her chair. Every muscle in her jaw tightened, and, if a mere look could speak, Cosette's all-knowing expression told Éponine everything.

_She knows. Good Lord, she_ knows_..._

Her mouth felt parched, and it took every ounce of composure not to crumble and give her position away. Éponine swallowed hard and tried to keep her eyes from darting to everything else in the room.

"Cosette, I..." Quickly, she resolved to tell at least half a truth. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I kept it from him, and I shouldn't have. I knew he was in love with you, that he was waiting on a word from you, and I..."

Cosette didn't blink or flinch. Her face remained perfectly poised and still. Her next words, however, made Éponine's throat drop into the pit of her stomach.

"Were you in love with him?"

Éponine's breath stalled. What was there to say? If she lied, Cosette would surely know it, and there would be no trust to build upon moving forward. If she told the truth, she risked having her good fortunate ripped away from her for sure. Not that she felt she deserved any of this, but the taste of a better life was now a hope she clung to, and losing it would be something Éponine knew her tattered nerves would never recover from.

Éponine considered what lay before her in this moment. Deep down, she knew who she was. No matter how much she may desire to move away from her old life, she would never escape her birth. She was a Thenardier, a mere street rat in more respectable clothing, and a misfit who would do whatever she had to do to make it to the next meal. So, she decided to tell another half truth.

"I... I _was_ in love with him, yes," she confessed quietly, "but it was silly. He was and forever will be yours, Cosette. I've never seen him happier. That was all that I wanted for him, and it is all I wish for him now. I... I'm no longer _in_ love with him," she forced the words out, though it was like taking a severe blow to the chest, "but I do love him as a friend. If you'll permit me, I... I'd like to continue caring for him as a friend, but that is all."

Cosette stared at her for an excruciatingly long period of time before her attractive features livened, much to Éponine's relief. "I'm sorry, Éponine. I hope you don't mind me asking? I just... I had to be sure is all."

The two smiled, though it was a mixture of strain and relief on both their parts. It was only then that Eponine realized she had been squeezing and coiling the napkin in her lap too tightly, and now her palms were sweaty. She loosened her hard grip of the material, a fine silk her parents would have surely killed to get a hold of.

"I understand. I... I don't mean to cause you or Marius any trouble."

"Now that we've cleared the air, there shouldn't be a problem going forward."

It was the most frank conversation they could have possibly shared, and the two women finished the remainder of their breakfasts in silence. Although the heavy atmosphere had lifted, Éponine couldn't quite be sure if she was in Cosette's good graces again or not.

* * *

The remainder of the day was slow and internally agonizing for Éponine. Cosette kept up the sweet pretense that all was well between them, but for Éponine, she mostly remained silent, mainly due to the shame that was gnawing at her insides. She hadn't been entirely truthful with Marius's wife, after all, and no matter how much she had wanted to continue on envying the woman and generally disliking her, Cosette was too good, too wholesome, too selfless and warmhearted for Éponine to find any faults. Instead, she found herself being roped right into Cosette's sphere, and realizing she rather enjoyed her company.

How could this be? They had never gotten on as children, although Éponine and her sister had mostly gone out of their way to ignore Cosette. Was it the act of lying that troubled her so? She had lied on the streets often enough, either to save her own skin or those she cared about.

By evening, she wanted to be grateful for Marius's and Monsieur Gillenormand's return, if only to have a break from conversation with Cosette, but she only felt worse. By supper, Éponine was fully prepared to excuse herself early and retire for the evening to be alone with her guilty conscience. Marius, however, started up right away upon his return, and Éponine found herself being pulled into his engaging chatter and charm, like always.

"The rebellion has been crushed, Marius," his grandfather issued with caution in his voice once the topic turned to the latest revolts.

"For now," Marius returned through a clenched jaw; Éponine noted Cosette's subtle move of linking her hand through her husband's. "Enjolras will want to know the latest." He turned to Cosette, giving her a tender gaze Éponine would have longed to receive. "How is he?"

"Better than expected."

Cosette had excused herself for a time in the afternoon to see to their guest, allowing Éponine her only hour of solitude to take in the gardens. Internally, she braced herself for questions about her entering the man's quarters in the middle of the night upon Cosette's return but, oddly enough, and much to Éponine's alleviation, none came.

"He asked about you, you know."

It took Éponine a moment to realize Cosette was speaking to her, and her eyebrows lifted, and with a twinge of panic. "Oh?" she tried to inquire as casually as possible.

"Yes," Cosette nodded, giving her a small smile. "He asked about you staying with us. He mentioned recognizing you, and once I explained who you were, he remembered."

Éponine quickly took _that_ as her excuse to retire. "I'm sorry, Monsieur Gillenormand, would any of you mind if I went to bed early this evening?"

She inwardly prayed she would be granted such a favor. Luckily, no one objected, minus the several inquiries after her health and if she was 'feeling all right.'

"I'll see you to your room," Marius insisted, as they both rose to their feet. "I'd like to pay Enjolras a visit anyhow. I know we keep promising it, but one of these days you _will_ get to see him yourself." He chuckled and shook his head. "I daresay the man can't wait to get out of his room, or have others besides ourselves for regular company."

_We've already met, and with us both in our nightwear, no less._

* * *

Enjolras was awake when Marius entered his room and was laying against his pillows with a book propped on his knees, his body buried beneath a handful of blankets despite the summer breeze that floated in from the small, open window. Not only did the attractive gentleman possess more color in his face, but, to Marius, he also looked relatively well rested for a change. It was a welcoming development from how he had appeared not twenty-four hours ago.

Marius shot him a smirk from across the room. "What on earth are you reading?"

"How else am I to pass the time?" Enjolras retorted rather than answer.

"Well, it's nice to see you reading for a change."

Enjolras peered at Marius over the top of his book. "As opposed to..."

"Sleeping, feverish, talking incoherently..."

Enjolras's eyes returned to his book, his handsome face impassive. "I suppose it _is_ an improvement."

"Just a touch."

Marius's smirk broadened. He closed the bedroom door and took a seat in the sofa chair beside Enjolras's bed. It was a moment or two before Enjolras broke the comfortable silence that sometimes passed between them, his eyes remaining focused on the reading material in his hands.

"Who did you say that friend of yours was? The one who's staying here now? Your wife told me earlier but I've forgotten."

Marius cocked his head to one side. "Éponine," he answered, eying his friend carefully.

"Is that the one?"

Marius arched an eyebrow. "The one?" he repeated, not following Enjolras's train of thought.

"Mmm, your shadow."

"_Shadow?_"

Enjolras eyed Marius sidelong, his features sharpened. "Yes... She used to follow you around everywhere, _ton ombré._" *****

Marius shook his head, confused. "She was never my shadow, Enjolras."

"Then how do you explain how she miraculously showed up wherever we were?"

Marius narrowed his eyes. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Enjolras shrugged, nonchalant, and returned to his book. "Nothing."

Marius's eyes constricted, however. "_Connerie!_" ****** he quipped, earning a smug smile from his friend.

"What brought her here?"

"You're full of questions this evening, my friend."

Enjolras's blue eyes met his. "You can go away and let me read, if my inquiries bother you?"

Marius chuckled and stretched one leg over the other, settling into his spot without any intent of leaving. "Apparently she heard the rumor that I was still alive and decided to pay me a visit. She also had nowhere to go."

A strange flicker passed by Enjolras's eyes, but the rest of his face remained neutral when he responded quietly, "And thus, the tales of miraculous survival continue..."

"Indeed." Marius paused to survey Enjolras thoughtfully. "I still need to hear _yours_, my friend, though perhaps another night."

Enjolras nodded in agreement and flipped the page of his book, resettling his head comfortably against his propped pillows. "Will she be staying long?" he asked after a time.

"Yes... As a matter of fact, she's staying indefinitely."

That earned Enjolras's attention. He raised his eyebrows in interest. "Oh?" Then his mouth slumped into a scowl. "Did you buy her?"

"No, I didn't have to. She's severed ties with her family."

"All the same, Marius, what makes you think they won't come looking for her?"

"I've considered that, trust me. I know who her parents are, though. They were the ones that crashed my wedding, remember? I told you about them?"

"Ahhh, yes..." Enjolras's face relaxed, though he appeared rather perplexed or distracted by the information. "The Thenardiers are her parents?"

From what Marius had described of the picket-pocketing swines, they were the lowliest of society, and their kind didn't seem contingent with the relatively meek but respectful-sounding girl he had met that morning. The Thenardiers were also well-known crooks, and any association with them immediately tainted one's reputation.

It took Enjolras nearly all day to put Éponine's face to memory. And when the remembrance of Eponine's former, less-than-presentable self surfaced in his mind—the street rat who hung about his comrades because she was so irrevocably in love with a man she couldn't have—Enjolras was surprised, and unnerved, that she had lied to him. Why wouldn't she simply tell him the truth: that they had met before?

Enjolras rightfully chose not to disclose to Marius or Cosette how he even came to know of her presence. He hadn't expected to wake up with the girl lying asleep in his bedroom, as though it were commonplace. Realizing who she was, and her family connections, he saw no reason to shame her further. So, he kept his face emotionless and asked his questions.

"Yes, they're her parents," Marius replied with another shake of his head. "I encountered them on the street once with Éponine, which was how I came to know of them at all. They are the worst sort. Anyway, they've left Paris, or so I instructed them to. Éponine is more free of them than I think she realizes. After recouping in a convent, she came straight here, so I don't think she understands that they've gone away and can't hurt her anymore."

"I hope you intend to tell her, Marius?"

"I do."

Enjolras's brow furrowed. "So, what do you intend to do with her?"

"Help her rebuild her life; give her a better future."

Enjolras was taken aback. "What, you mean you intend to elevate her into society?"

"Sure, why not?"

Enjolras's eyebrows angled. "Have you considered the consequences if anyone were to come looking for her; or if her past were to be uncovered? She'd be shamed and disgraced, Marius."

"For coming off of a fever, your mind is remarkably sharp," Marius chuckled, dismissing Enjolras's evident concerns with a wave of his hand.

As much as Enjolras cared for Marius, much like he felt for a younger brother, it aggravated him to no end how the man sometimes didn't think or see past the end of his nose. He shot him a critical look, and with a frown to match.

"Marius, I think you and Cosette wanting to help the girl is a noble gesture, but there are _other_ less positive factors to consider." He paused, looking uncertain. "I hope you've thought this through..."

"I _have_, my friend." He burst into lighthearted laughter. "Why do you look so worried?"

"Because she's already experienced rock bottom, as have I," Enjolras said somberly, to which Marius's smile turned upside down. "Best to be cautious, Marius. Don't get her hopes up..."

Marius's frown deepened. "What happened to wanting to make a difference, Enjolras? To making a change for those less fortunate than us?" He drew forward in his chair, his eyes desperately searching the now impassive freedom fighter, who had once stood so passionately for democracy and elevation of the poor. "_Vive la France_, Enjolras, remember? What... What's changed?"

Marius felt a fool for asking, really. He understood Enjolras's pain as much as he understood himself, but he had secretly prayed that perhaps the fire hadn't left his dear friend, no matter how melancholic the man appeared on the surface. Losing their friends had been devastating—a heartache of the worst kind—and yet, Marius's beliefs, deep down, hadn't shifted away from democratic freedom and a stride for real change. Although such feverous sentiments were mostly locked away now, they were still as intense as ever, surging within for revenge for the friends they had lost.

Gazing upon Enjolras tonight, however, such feelings catapulted to the forefront of his mind. He saw the saddened change in the revolutionist with his own eyes. The light and intensity was gone, extinguished like a flame.

Enjolras's jaw clenched and his hands grasped his book so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Everything's changed, Marius," he whispered, his voice much fainter than before. "Nothing will ever be as it once was; not ever again."

* * *

*** Translation:** "_...your shadow._" (Thank you to SavingViolets for the correction!)  
**** Translation:** "_Bullshit!_"

**A/N #2: You'll start to get more interaction between them soon, I promise. :) My review button's looking sad, won't you say something? Please?  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I didn't realize till uploading this chapter that when I said you'd get more interaction between them soon, _I really meant it._ ;)  
**

**Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

_**"In the rain, the pavement shines like silver..."**_  
_**-Les Misérables**_

* * *

Éponine stirred and rolled over in bed. _A cry in the dark._ Her eyes reluctantly opened, adjusting to the moonlight that cast strange patterns across the floor. Awareness of the source of the sound registered and she sat up, taking a moment to awaken further before climbing out of the warm comforts of her bed. It would take quite some getting used to having a bed to sleep in, but it was divine, all the same.

Not that it kept away her own nightmares, but they seemed to have lessened significantly since coming to Marius's grandfather's home. _That_ made her smile, though only temporarily, for she heard the cry again, and it startled her out of falling back asleep.

Wrapping a shawl around her nightgown, Éponine tip toed out of the bedroom and down the hall to Enjolras's room, her mind fighting her all the way there. Either she was too tired to argue with her conscience, or her instincts told her to ignore the weariness she felt at the back of her mind.

Éponine opened the door and it creaked loudly, halting her in her tracks. She listened for sounds of movement and was relieved to hear none. She wasn't as nervous as the previous night and couldn't account for why that was, but hearing Enjolras's night terrors put her on edge, _for whatever odd reason._

Enjolras mumble something incoherently, which informed Éponine that he was still sleeping, so she crept inside and shut the door behind her. Surveying him from across the room, it was clear that he was in the midst of another nightmare. _Probably about the barricade_, she considered with a frown.

Even with her mind still fighting her every step, Éponine approached the bed and timidly reached out to take Enjolras's hand in hers, remembering how her touch the night before had calmed him down rather quickly. To her surprise, he quieted almost instantly, his breathing leveling out and his body no longer twitching in fear, sadness, remorse, _or_ _whatever it was._

Éponine stood by the bed for quite some time, her hand locked in his, mindful of how remarkably comforting the feeling was. His hand was warm, his fingers limply intertwined in hers. Yet, it felt strangely appropriate.

_You should go back to your room_, her mind cautioned.

Instead, Éponine gently squeezed Enjolras's hand. She considered sitting down in the sofa chair, but that meant unfastening her hand from his, and she wasn't ready to do so. Taking a deep breath, Eponine decidedly eased herself onto the edge of Enjolras's bed, making sure to put some distance between herself and the relative stranger, and prayed he wouldn't wake.

Why was she doing this? What compelled her to hold the hand of a man she hardly knew in the middle of the night because he was having a nightmare?

_Lots of people have them, including you!_ she contemplated. _You should go back to bed before he wakes up, Éponine. You shouldn't be here. This is ridiculous!_

Just as she was finally considering that very idea, Enjolras's steady breathing suddenly hitched. Startled, Éponine peered down to find a pair of intense, blue eyes gazing back at her, and she thought she might be sick. Luckily, she gasped instead.

_Oh, no..._

"_You_," he whispered, his tone accusing and, at the same time, alarmingly calm.

"I... I'm sorry," she stammered back, quickly withdrawing her hand in an attempt to rise and leave the room; but Enjolras's low voice stopped her.

"No..."

Éponine jerked when he lazily reached out to take her by the hand again. Her entire body tensed, prepared for something dreadful to follow—perhaps some verbal assaults or even a smack or a punch. That was normally what happened when she did something that displeased her parents, and the pounding of her heart rang in her ears.

When she chanced a glance down at Enjolras, though, his heavy eyelids were closing. Within seconds, he was fast asleep again, his thumb gently pressed into her palm, his figure slack and completely relaxed. Éponine let out the breath she had been holding and allowed herself to scan his face in the dark.

A faint, bluish light fell upon his lax features. His jaw, which Éponine observed had usually been tightly clamped, now hung loose as he lightly snored in sleep, and the few lines around his eyes and mouth that had made him quite the expressive speaker were soft, even faded. She hadn't noticed the prominent cupid's bow of his upper lip before, nor how a few golden curls seemed to effortlessly fall against and perfectly frame his face. She may have had her heart always set on one unattainable man, but Éponine was no fool or lacked proper cognizance when it came to the opposite sex.

Enjolras cut a handsome, refined figure by any standards. He was distinguishable in a crowd and, much like Marius, received more than a few double-takes on the streets. His features were elegant and other worldly, "carved by angels," as some silly women described him. The thought made Éponine smile. She remembered the charisma and charm with which he had so often spoken at the meetings of the _Les Amis de l'ABC_—the way he could attract an enthusiastic crowd and rally those to his cause with such passion and, at the same time, grace. It wasn't his words alone that drew people to him like moths to a flame; Éponine had seen for herself how close acquaintances like Marius could be sucked right into his realm with a piercing glance or a few choice words. It was admittedly intriguing, but she had been focused on more important matters: those that belonged to her heart, and her heart belonged to Marius.

Up close, Enjolras still possessed all of those qualities that Éponine had quietly perceived from a distance. Upon closer inspection, however, Éponine found something too drastically had shifted. Perhaps it was only in sleep that some of the enchantment washed away, replaced by a different glamour—one that no longer resembled the blazing sun but the chilly, night sky. It was melancholic and tragic instead of bursting with hope and capability. And it turned Éponine's soft smile upside down.

_You really_ should _go back to your room, you know..._

Éponine already knew that wasn't to be, though. If she removed her hand again, he might truly wake up, or the nightmares might recycle and start all over. There was still the awkward fact that she was sitting on the edge of his bed, and staying up the rest of the night wasn't an option either. She could already feel her eyes growing heavy and yearning to close. The feel of his warm hand encasing hers was soothing, comforting enough to make her body melt into the duvet and long to lie down.

Éponine willed herself to stay put, though it didn't take much convincing, and shifted carefully to lie opposite a slumbering Enjolras. She curled herself into a ball and tried to crane her neck to see his face. His eyes were still shut.

_Hopefully, I'll wake before he does_, was the last thought that entered Éponine's mind before she succumbed to sleep, her head nearly touching Enjolras's blanketed feet, with her hand still holding his.

* * *

Luckily, Éponine awoke at dawn, unsure of where she was before the recollections from the previous night came flooding back to her. Her hand was hot and sweaty, which made her grimace, until she sat up and realized that she and Enjolras had held hands throughout the night, never unlocking their fingers from one another's grasp. Éponine couldn't be sure of how she felt about _that_, only that the act itself had kept her from tossing and turning as she normally would have done; if she were being truthful, their hand-holding was rather nice, even consoling...

Suppressing a yawn into the crook of her free arm, Éponine tried to stretch without moving the bed too much, fearful of waking the gentleman still snoring beside her. His body hadn't shifted since she fell asleep, and Éponine suspected their hand-holding had proven the same for him: a peaceful slumber without rolling and twitching and waking himself up in the middle of the night,_ as he probably normally does._

Enjolras's attractive face, unbothered and as lax as before, looked even more alluring in the dim, pinkish glow of dawn. The gentle rays peeking through his window cast themselves across his angular jaw and high cheekbones, brightening his strong features and golden, tight curls.

Feeling suddenly sheepish for staring so outlandishly at the man, Éponine blushed and slid her legs off of the bed. She thought she was safe to get up and stretch when Enjolras suddenly twisted his own legs beneath the covers, his mind and body awakening at the same time as she.

_Damn it!_ Éponine cursed her bad luck. She hastily removed her hand from his a second time but was caught off her guard. Enjolras's hand grabbed her wrist, firmly holding her in place, and she let out a nervous gasp when she peered down to find his bright eyes staring up at her, wide and alert.

"_You_," he repeated the same as before, and much like a pawing wild cat before it strikes.

"M - Monsieur..."

"_What are you doing in my room?_"

"Pl - Please, Monsieur," Éponine tried desperately to wiggle herself free, but his grip was strong, "let go!"

"Not until you explain yourself," he ordered in that commanding baritone she remembered well from the barricade, adding as he made to sit up, "_again_," to further emphasize his point.

"I... You were having another nightmare and—"

"And what concern is that of _yours?_"

Flushed and excited, Éponine narrowed her eyes defensively. "You've been keeping me awake at night, that's what!"

"Does that warrant you sleeping in my bed chambers?"

Éponine felt her cheeks radiate with humiliation but Enjolras was now blushing too, apparently lamenting the suggestion his questioning prompted. "If you're trying to insinuate something, Monsieur—" she began before Enjolras heatedly cut her off with another outburst.

"I'm trying to understand what the hell you're doing in my bed!"

The remark only added embarrassment to injury for both. The two of them stared hard at one another, despite the obvious uneasiness that had settled upon the room. Finally, Éponine gave up trying to writhe herself free and frowned, defeated.

"I tried to move to the sofa chair last night, but you took possession of my hand again."

Enjolras blinked, the panic evident in his blue eyes. "I - I did?"

"Yes... Rather than disturb you again, I laid down on the bed and tried to get a few hours' rest." She bit her lip, her nerves quickly overpowering her anger. "I - I'm sorry for waking you, Monsieur. I was only trying to calm you down. Your night terrors are quite loud and would've kept me up all night if I hadn't..."

Éponine went quiet as Enjolras released his grip on her wrist and averted his eyes. After a moment or two of watching the man struggle to reply, he offered, his voice exceedingly soft, "I apologize for my actions. I was startled was all." His mouth bound itself into a tight grimace as he carefully met her face. "Did I hurt you?"

Éponine was taken aback by such a question, simple as it may be. No one _ever_ asked after her welfare or how they physically treated her. It was common place to be manhandled in her old world that she wasn't prepared to receive anything remotely apologetic in this one.

"No, Monsieur. I... I'm fine. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's all right."

Enjolras grunted, trying unsuccessfully to pull himself onto his elbows. He winced in pain and attempted to scoot backward and away from her, though without much progress.

"Would you like some help?" Éponine whispered, earning a cautious look over from Enjolras, now awkwardly positioned on one elbow.

"I... No, I'm fine, thank you."

Éponine forced a smile and, not really knowing what else to do, she withdrew from the bed to sit in the sofa chair a few feet away. Drawing her knees up to her chest again, she wrapped her arms around her legs, keeping her nightgown tucked beneath her feet for warmth, and watched quietly as Enjolras struggled to cushion several pillows behind his back.

Once he was situated more comfortably, his sharp eyes cast themselves upon her again, scanning her face with a mixture of lingering confusion and, perhaps, interest, though she couldn't be sure. Despite his disconcerting complexion, which was much paler than Éponine remembered, he resembled much the same leader she knew from the barricade.

"You're Éponine?"

It was a statement rather than a question, and Éponine's back straightened. "You know my name, Monsieur?"

"Yes, Marius told me, though I recognized you from before," he mumbled, causing her face to redden. "I'm not sure why you felt compelled to lie to me yesterday."

"L - Lie to you?"

"Yes."

Enjolras awaited her explanation with a suspicious-looking scowl; Éponine couldn't help but find the revolutionist intimidating, even now that there was a considerable gap that separated them. Being bedridden didn't seem to make a difference either.

"I..."

"Cat got your tongue?"

Éponine found her nerves quickly evaporating. "No," she challenged defensively. "Maybe I didn't particularly _want_ you to know who I am."

"And why's that?"

"What does it matter?" she snapped back, earning a raised eyebrow from Enjolras.

"Lying says a lot about one's character," Enjolras drawled, his intense eyes pinning her into the sofa chair. "I never thought your face dishonest, Mademoiselle, which is why I find it perplexing why you would feel that you couldn't be honest with me."

Éponine quickly avoided his careful scrutiny. "Please don't call me that again..." Her mouth opened and closed several times. Finally, she frowned in a manner that took Enjolras aback. "I'm surprised you would even remember who I am... Most gentlemen wouldn't..."

Enjolras's knitted brow lessened. "I remember your face. You were Marius's shadow. Wherever he appeared, so did you." He paused, sensing the anger now penetrating through her amber irises, so deep, yet mistrusting of others. "I'm not one to forget a face."

"No, I suppose you aren't." Éponine ground her teeth; the notion of being called 'Marius's shadow' brought her to a new level of humiliation. "_I'm not his shadow_," she insisted with more bite.

"Would you prefer that I call you his huntress, his stalker—"

Éponine gaped, affronted by such labels. "Please, Monsieur—"

"His messenger? Perhaps_ that_ is most appropriate."

Éponine swiftly turned her head so as not to look at him. Even though Enjolras's expression was softer than before, those fierce, blue eyes appeared ready to gnaw her to bits. His tongue was biting and unforgiving, even if deep down Éponine knew his observation was perfectly correct.

"You're cruel, Monsieur," she whispered through a strained voice, weaving her arms tighter around herself.

"Forgive me. I don't mean to be. I'm simply more blunt than most company would prefer."

"Insensitive is more like it..."

"That too."

Éponine hesitated to look but chanced a quick glance in his direction, relieved that Enjolras was no longer holding her hostage with his gaze. He had quietly brought a book into his lap, removing a thread for a bookmark, which Éponine noted just _happened_ to be red, and began to read.

Éponine watched him in silence for a time, scrutinizing his pinched up features as he read. She felt irritated and flustered. If this was his _gentlemanly_ manner of ignoring her or requesting that she leave his room, she wasn't about to concede so easily.

"I wasn't his messenger."

"You ran errands for him all the time, as I recall," Enjolras returned without looking up.

"That was out of kindness to a friend."

"A friend who used you to do his bidding, no doubt."

"I'm sorry?" Eponine's mouth fell open; the man seemed to be full of insults and she couldn't understand why.

"I believe you heard me, Mademoiselle."

"Marius is my friend." Éponine could no longer withhold the pain in her voice.

"As he is also mine."

"We've known each other a long time, Monsieur."

"As have we."

Éponine chewed her bottom lip to keep from snapping. "That is why I hung about him so much and helped him a great deal: _because we're friends._" She made sure to emphasize the words, but, to her discredit, it garnered little reaction; or, at least, not the kind that she had hoped for.

"Is that so?" came Enjolras's nonchalant reply that only compounded her anger further.

"You sound as though you wish to enlighten me, so _please_ don't let me stop you."

"To the contrary, Mademoiselle, I have nothing colorful to add."

"Would you stop calling me that?" Éponine huffed, and Enjolras cast his curious eyes upon her at last with one eyebrow arched. "I've told you before—"

"Are you not being taken in by the Pontmercies?"

"I... Yes..."

"Then you are a Mademoiselle now, Éponine; or shall be in time."

"I'm no such person..."

"Oh? Why is that? Because you came from more humble beginnings?"

"If you wish to put it so directly, Mon—"

"As I've already explained to you, that _is_ my nature."

"Yes, I've noticed!"

Enjolras smirked at Éponine's frustration, and she wasn't sure what to make of his treatment, nor his peculiar simper. On the one hand, it was undoubtedly attractive, to the point that she was temporarily left breathless. On the other, it was absolutely infuriating.

"They won't be able to change who I am," she grumbled, trying to ignore his smile. She felt terribly shamefaced all of sudden. "I'm a commoner off the streets. Bathing me and putting me in pretty things won't change any of that."

Enjolras, who had returned to his reading material, shrugged off her point. "You'd be surprised."

"_Oh?_"

"I believe Madame Pontmercy came from such beginnings as yours, and look how well her life has turned out."

Éponine fell silent, though she sensed the man was aware of her staring and watching him closely, taking in his fair point in quiet contemplation. She hated being trumped, even if Enjolras was right.

"We're _not_ the same," she insisted after a lengthy pause.

"No one is."

"Do you have such a simple answer for everything?"

Unsurprisingly, Éponine received no answer, only another nettling, small smirk that made her grumble and cross her arms. When the silence between them became unbearable, she caved into her irritations.

"Aren't you going to reprimand or threaten me again for invading your privacy, Monsieur?"

"You explained why you were here, and I find your explanation logical, though I daresay I still don't quite understand why you bothered. So, why should I reprimand you?"

"You... You aren't going to tell Monsieur Marius or his wife?"

Enjolras turned his head and regarded her seriously. "I wasn't planning on it. Should I?"

To this, Éponine's face flushed with relief, though she couldn't be sure if it was because of Enjolras's suggestion or the manner in which he was now regarding her, both considerate and respectful. "I... I'd prefer that you didn't," she pleaded softly. "Like I said, Monsieur, I meant no offense."

"Enjolras."

"I'm sorry?"

"Considering we, erm, shared a bed last night, you needn't call me 'Monsieur.'" To avoid further embarrassment at both their expenses, he added quickly, "You may call me Enjolras."

Éponine's mouth slowly curled into an anxious-ridden smile. She drew her feet down to the floor and surveyed the book in his hands, nodding at it with interest. She was desperate to move past the awkwardness of the situation but also found herself not quite ready to leave yet.

"May I ask what you're reading..._Enjolras?_"

"You may." His eyes glinted, catching the rising sun in their depths. "It's a book from the university. Marius was good enough to bring the majority of my things to catch up on my studies." His eyes directed towards a stack of books on his end table. "I'm studying law."

Éponine examined the books, her eyes lighting up at the sheer amount that not only covered his end table but a nearby writing desk as well; she was unaware of Enjolras observing her fixation with a peculiar interest of his own. He bookmarked the page he was on and closed it, giving her his full attention.

"Do you read?"

Éponine's eyes fluttered. "I... No, I've never learned..." Her head sulked towards the floor.

"You needn't be ashamed, Éponine. You'll be afforded the opportunity to learn now that the Pontmercies have taken you in."

Éponine's head jerked up, her eyes glistening with wonder. "_I will?_" she murmured, unable to contain her excitement.

"Of course. I would imagine you'll learn many things... Art, literature, dancing and crocheting..."

To the latter two, Éponine curled her upper lip in disgust, which earned her a soft rile of laughter from the charming man a few feet away. The sound, though gentle, was infectious and she found herself chuckling too.

"Must I?" she very near groaned; she couldn't imagine herself learning how to dance. She could barely keep from tripping over her own feet most days, and crocheting sounded terribly dull and unexciting.

"If you wish to become a lady, Éponine, than I'm afraid you must be well versed."

Éponine broadened her smile, however, and her enthralled eyes returned to his vast, disheveled book collection. "I'd love to attend a university someday..."

"Perhaps you may."

Éponine snorted, unconvinced. "There's no place for my sex at a university, Mon—_Enjolras_."

"Says who?" Enjolras challenged, laying his book upon his lap.

"Erm, says gentlemen like _yourself._"

"I'm not like other gentlemen."

Éponine couldn't prevent projecting a halfhearted smile for him; she may not have known him well, but like other gentleman he most certainly was not, and she could attest to that from the limited time spent in his presence before.

"Well, perhaps someday you'll prove me wrong, _Enjolras._"

"You're very mistrusting of others." There was no accusation to Enjolras's tone of voice; still, his spot-on perception made her blush. "That's a very good thing, Mademoiselle. I daresay you know how to look after yourself."

"I've survived this long, so I suppose it's habit; I must be doing something right."

"Yes, indeed..."

Éponine shyly turned to the book in his large hands and extended an arm. He flinched, though it was too subtle for Éponine to notice.

"May I see?" she asked ever so quietly.

Quickly understanding what she wanted, Enjolras conceded with a polite nod and handed the book over to her. Holding its weight in her hands felt enormously satisfying. Éponine turned it over several times, her fingertips caressing it as though it were something sacred; an important item that must be guarded at all costs. She had never owned a book in her life, though she had been tempted to buy one or two with the few scraps of money she snatched on the streets. There was no way to buy anything, though, without her father either catching her in the act or for fear of discovery, and what would surely follow thereafter; he never missed a trick and never missed the opportunity to take every last ounce that his children earned, so Éponine had never chanced it.

Today, there was no abusive elder to peer over her shoulder or assault her for her curiosity, so Éponine eagerly flipped through the various pages, giddy with excitement at the wealth of knowledge the item in her hands contained, though, for the moment, the text was entirely foreign and unknown. The idea of_ finally_ learning to read, however—a life-long dream for a little girl growing up on the hellish, dark alleyways of Paris—felt suddenly accessible for the first time.

The leather binding was worn, and a few pages had been torn at the edges, but the condition didn't matter to Éponine. It was the text therein—the enticing old, worn scent of an education—that awaited her; an opportunity to better herself as she had never imagined. She was abruptly apprised of Enjolras observing her with his arms laced across his chest. His eyes were twinkling at her in amusement, even if his mouth wasn't smiling. Éponine carefully closed the book, though she ran her fingers over the cover, as though it were a lover and needed to be mindfully touched.

"Would you like me to teach you?" he surprised her by asking.

Éponine's ears perked up. "Teach me, Monsieur?"

"Yes... To read."

"I..."

Enjolras surveyed his quarters, this time his mouth forming into a glum frown. "Considering the fact that I'll likely be confined here for some time yet, I see no reason why I couldn't instruct you, if you wish."

"In - Instruct me? _Really?_"

Enjolras gave her a curt nod. "I could teach you to write as well, if time permits us."

"You... You'd do that? For _me?_" Éponine's eyes narrowed, a wave of skepticism passing by her eyes. "What's the catch?"

To her further astonishment, Enjolras laughed yet again; it was the second time in only a span of a short sitting that she had heard the gentleman do so, and both the sight and sound was wonderfully appealing, for reasons she didn't quite understand, though Éponine quickly realized in that moment that she had never really _seen_ or _heard_ Enjolras smile or laugh before. Not in any of the times she had spent at the cafe, where he and the _Les Amis de l'ABC_ plotted and discussed their rebellion, whilst others drank themselves into an oblivion. He had always struck her as too serious, too sober, and too stern. Then again, she had been too focused on Marius to take much notice of anything else, including him. Seeing the attractive, blond gentleman's face entirely relaxed, if only for a moment, was a remarkable change to take in.

"There's no catch, I promise you," he insisted, and his laughter soon subsided. "I have ample time on my hands and someone who's eager to learn, which would make my efforts worth the while. I'd be putting you at a disadvantage if I didn't offer. Besides..." Enjolras's scowled, the seriousness of his features returning. "Being confined to these quarters has left me bored out of my mind, and I'm rather tired of being unuseful. Consider it a win-win for us both."

"I see..."

"What do you say?"

Éponine's earnestness burst through without much further consideration, and Enjolras found the young lady's smile, so vivacious and bright, endearing. It was childlike, filled with wonder and hope that he couldn't quite understand. Why hadn't he noticed it before?

_Because she never smiled, Enjolras_, his astute mind reminded him. _And probably with good reason; you remember what she looked like before. I'm sure you can imagine what she came from..._

It was remarkable for both to think on how different their lives were only some two months ago, each facing death and loss and what little hope they still clung to. Éponine was about to comment on her stroke of good fortune when a few more rays trailed across Enjolras's angelic face, and she quickly turned her head towards the window behind her.

"Oh... I - I should probably go back to my room."

Enjolras bowed his head courteously. "As you wish."

He watched the dark-haired Éponine rise to her full height, finding that even her slender figure resembled that of a teenager rather than a grown woman. She was short and petite and would have likely possessed curves if she hadn't spent the majority of her life near the point of starvation. He blinked and distractedly reopened his book. To be caught staring at a woman, particularly one who wasn't his wife, in her nightgown wasn't to be born.

_Neither is allowing a strange woman to enter your bedchambers to hold your hand through a nightmare, Enjolras..._

Éponine paused when she reached the door handle and turned to thank Enjolras for his proposition. "I'm sorry again for disturbing you last night, Mon—Enjolras," she repeated. "It won't happen again."

With that, she nodded respectfully and left the room, her footsteps quietly echoing down the hallway back to her quarters. Enjolras looked on after the closed door from whence the dark, curious female had exited, uncertain of how he felt about her promise never to revisit him at night again. The isolation that always took over when he was alone was also, for the first time, discomforting.

* * *

**A/N #2: It's the start of something, _yes? _**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Holy wow, _thank you for all the reviews, alerts, and favorites!_ I'm truly amazed at how this story has taken off, and I can't thank everyone enough who's chosen to follow along. :)  
**

**Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

_**"What a life I might have known..."**_  
_**-Les Misérables**_

* * *

The following day saw Éponine meeting the revolutionary more appropriately, though her hosts didn't know any better. For her part, Éponine hoped it would remain underwraps; she had no interest in being cast out for acting 'inappropriately' in her first week at the Pontmercies and when, as far as she was concerned, she had done nothing wrong.

Marius and Cosette led her towards Enjolras's room in the late afternoon following Marius's return from university. Cosette had informed Éponine earlier that morning that their second guest "seemed well enough to receive another visitor" and that she would get to meet him later in the day.

Marius led the way and knocked on the door before entering, opening it following a soft reply to "Come in." They found Enjolras laying upright in bed with a few opened books scattered upon his duvet. He had one in hand and paused to raise his head and greet them properly. Éponine noted that he was no longer wearing a night shirt but a handsome-looking blue and green-striped vest, with buttons down the front, and a neatly pressed shirt.

_He didn't do that for my benefit, did he?_ she worried fleetingly.

Enjolras projected a soft smile of greeting, though Éponine could tell the warmness wasn't reflected in his gaze. She suspected he probably would have rather remained undisturbed and was merely indulging Marius's insistence that he acquire more company and conversation.

"Enjolras, this is Éponine, whom we are taking in. You remember her, yes?"

Éponine couldn't help but blush at the ridiculousness of the situation. They had already been introduced to one another, and not in the preferred manner; but if Enjolras was on the same train of thought as she, he displayed no awkwardness. Instead, he bowed his head courteously with a small smile.

"Mademoiselle," he replied, his address every ounce the gentleman. "You'll have to excuse the circumstances. According to the doctor, I'm not well enough to venture out of bed yet."

"I understand, Monsieur. I hope you're well?"

Éponine returned his gentle smile and attempted to curtsey, though she felt rather foolish for even trying. Not only had he already seen her in a far less presentable state, but she also had a long way to go before she would ever feel much at all like a lady.

"As well as can be expected for what I've been through," Enjolras returned, his features solemn and poised.

Marius gestured for Éponine to have a seat in the sofa chair she had previously occupied. Another chair had evidently been brought in at some point, for Cosette took a seat on the opposite side of the bed, leaving Marius to stand beside Éponine.

Enjolras shuffled to remove some of the books he had spread out when Cosette touched his arm and quietly reassured him all was fine to leave be. He conceded without a word and fell back against his propped pillows, turning his uncomfortable attention towards Éponine, now toying with her fingers in her lap.

"Are you settling in well?" he casually asked.

"I am, Monsieur, thank you."

"Monsieur Gillenormand's estate is quite a sight."

"It is, indeed, yes."

"Have you taken a stroll through the gardens?"

"She and Cosette have taken several walks," Marius inserted with a pleasant grin. "I believe Éponine may come to feel quite at home soon, won't you?"

Éponine peered up at Marius and consented with an affirmative nod. "Yes, Monsieur Marius, I do very much love it here."

Cosette leaned forward in her chair. "We're delighted to have you, Éponine."

Éponine met Cosette's kindness with another polite smile, though her brown eyes quickly darted to Enjolras, who was surveying her rather curiously; or, at least, with some peculiar interest. Was it because she was actually presentable today, wearing a finely tailored, pale green dress rather than her dirty old rags? Her long, shoulder-length hair was tied back in a bun with a few loose waves in front that lovingly framed her face. Éponine was amazed daily by her transformation and sometimes hardly recognized herself. She could only assume it must be the same for the young gentleman to take her appearance in as well.

_At least it isn't my nightgown this time_, her conscience scathingly reminded her.

"I understand you're to be given an education?" Enjolras pressed quietly, keeping his blue irises focused on her.

To this, Cosette giggled and interjected before Éponine could speak, "I wouldn't be so sure of that, Enjolras, but I certainly intend to do my utmost best."

"I look forward to your instructions, Madame."

"Proceed with caution," Enjolras leaned closer and nodded towards the blonde beauty to his left. "Madame Pontmercy can be overzealous and passionate when it comes to the art of dancing. As I understand it, she proved quite the sight at her own wedding and left her poor husband to look like a great buffoon. Frankly, I'm sorry to have missed it."

"That's a load of rubbish!" Cosette tittered, squeezing Enjolras's arm teasingly as she gazed across the bed at Marius, who was also laughing along and shaking his head. "Marius did a splendid job. I didn't outshine anyone."

"No, I'm afraid Enjolras is right, my dear." Marius's freckled face turned a shade redder, and Éponine would have normally found it captivating, only she was rather curious about the subtle change she had seen in Enjolras's regard. "I have what can only be described as wobbly knees. Cosette led _me_ around the room rather than vice versa."

"All the same," Cosette continued to giggle and blush, "I'm not nearly as good, nor enthusiastic, as Enjolras or my husband would lead you to believe."

Éponine merely smiled back. Whilst trying to appear interested in the happy bantering going back and forth, she wasn't particularly keen on hearing the details of Marius's wedding day. It may not have stung her as much as she expected it to, which admittedly felt a bit odd, but she still didn't want to hear more. Then again, Éponine concluded, she must slowly but surely be coming to grips with what was never to be; or else, numbing herself to the reality at long last.

"I still look forward to learning," she confided in a dreamlike whisper. "I'm quite ignorant in the ways of the world."

"No, you aren't, Mademoiselle," Enjolras surprised her by insisting, the intensity of his gaze softening; or perhaps it was only her imagination. "You've only been privy to the underbelly—a much different side—is all. Now it's your opportunity to see the better half, _une vie meilleure_."** ***

Éponine found her smile extending at such a rich possibility. "Yes..." she concurred. "I'm very much looking forward to it..."

Enjolras's eyes flickered and she found herself a bit shaken once they pulled them to look at Cosette. "Will you be instructing her in reading and writing as well?"

Éponine blinked._ Ahhh, clever_, she wanted to snicker and did her best not to.

"I confess, I think Éponine would do much better with a tutor rather than myself," said Cosette. "We'll certainly practice together, but I'm afraid I might prove very poor at instruction in that regard, particularly when it comes to writing. My father was always a much better instructor than I could be."

"Nonsense, love," Marius insisted with feeling, causing his wife to blush prettily.

It was then that Enjolras set forth the proposal he had arranged with Éponine in private. "I could instruct her, if you'd like?" He turned his attention from his good friend to Cosette and back again, noting the surprise on both of their faces. "It would save you money and time investing in a tutor, and it would give me something to do as long as I'm to be held hostage here."

Marius chuckled. "No one's holding you hostage, my friend, but... Erm, would you really like to?"

Enjolras's eyes fell upon Éponine again, and she couldn't help but be drawn in. No one but Marius had ever shown an ounce of interest in her person, whether as a street rat who could run errands or a lady-in-the-making who needed improving. It was admittedly a welcoming change, and there was also the fact that Enjolras wasn't half bad a sight to behold.

"If Mademoiselle is comfortable with the arrangement?" he asked her directly.

Éponine quickly looked to Cosette, who seemed to illustrate nothing less than encouragement, so she nodded compliantly and smiled. She certainly preferred the idea of learning from Enjolras than Cosette. As sweet and gentle as she was, and they had been getting along splendidly since her arrival, the lingering jealousy and unhappiness that sometimes plagued Éponine in her presence only served to cycle her guilt, and make her feel worse. She couldn't confound how being around Cosette even more would somehow lessen the ill feelings and welcomed Enjolras's instruction gladly.

_Yes, learning from Enjolras would be preferable._

"Thank you, Monsieur. I would appreciate that very much."

"It's settled then," Marius issued happily as Enjolras and Éponine held eyes only for each other for a moment, though it seemed to stretch out for much longer.

Enjolras was the first to glance away. He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders, leading Éponine to a chance a question before he could speak.

"How are you feeling, Monsieur, since the, well, erm..."

Éponine cut herself off. Was it even appropriate to touch upon the subject of the barricade yet, and what had occurred? Everyone situated in the room had lasting ties to the tragedy, but judging by Enjolras's expression, which had intensified, she regretted opening her mouth at all.

"I'm well enough, thank you," he replied through a tightened jaw, which, to Éponine, spoke volumes; she had overstepped her boundaries, and she couldn't blame him for clamping up on her.

"I'm glad to hear it," she whispered, hoping the subject would be dropped. It seemed Marius had a different idea in mind, however.

"You should hear Éponine's story, Enjolras! You remember what happened that night? I thought..." He peered down at Éponine, his expression grave. "I thought she died in my arms. Here, she was _alive_. One of the ladies tended to her wounds. We were all so sidetracked by everything else going on that we... We failed to recognize that she was still breathing."

"It's hardly anyone's fault," she quietly urged. She caught the strange glimmer in Enjolras's eyes, however. "Please don't take it to heart, Monsieurs. It's a miracle I made it till dawn, and you had your revolution to think of."

"Yes," Enjolras murmured, though he sounded thoroughly dismayed all of a sudden. "All the same, Éponine, we _did_ fail you. You should've been taken to a doctor straight away."

"And how would you have proposed that be done, Monsieur," Éponine attempted to reassure the now distraught-looking gentleman, "with the soldiers surrounding your barricade, waiting until dawn to attack you?" She gave a decided shake of her head. "No, Monsieur, there's no way any of you could have taken me to a doctor without risking your own lives."

"Enjolras has a point, though," Marius too insisted with a critical frown. "We could've tried, Éponine. Honestly, we truly thought you were dead. I... I'm sorry..."

"As am I," came Enjolras's shocking apology. Éponine couldn't understand why. The man had barely noticed her before, if at all, and she couldn't say that she blamed him; but she accepted his apology with a soft, grateful smile.

"Thank you, both of you. It's quite all right, though. Please don't be so hard on yourselves."

"If I may be so bold as to ask, how did you break free?" Enjolras asked after a long pause, as everyone looked on. The Pontmercies had heard the story before, but Enjolras hadn't, and he was scanning her face, looking freshly intrigued.

Éponine explained everything that she could remember from that fateful day. When she was through, Enjolras's brow was furrowed as he seemingly struggled to ask her another question.

"Do you recall who told you to get out and get somewhere safe?"

"No, Monsieur. I wish I did. I'd thank him in a heartbeat. I remember blacking out throughout the night, and when things started going awry, whoever the gentleman was shook me awake, allowing me to escape."

Marius had moseyed over to Cosette to touch her shoulder, and her hand slid up to interlock with his. "You certainly had angels looking out for you, Éponine," she whispered, in awe, before glancing at Enjolras and her husband as well. "You all did that day."

The two fine-looking men in the room said nothing, only regarded each other with a silent, mutual understanding, before their attention returned to Éponine. Her eyes settled upon Enjolras—on that guarded, elegantly-carved face—and she was nearly startled by what he conveyed next.

"It was me, Éponine," he admitted so quietly it almost bypassed her ears. "_I_ told you to get somewhere safe. I confess, your presence startled the hell out of me, but there wasn't much time to take in the reality that you were still alive, crawling on all floors towards the opposite side of the barricade...

"I tried to lead you out, but then... Well, I was easily diverted by other things happening all around me, so I'm glad to learn that you made it out safely."

"It - It was _you?_" She couldn't prevent her mouth from dropping like a codfish.

_No wonder his words sounded so familiar_, Éponine reflected, remembering how she had caught him in the midst of a nightmare a few days earlier, and how his command in the dark, and even in sleep, sounded eerily familiar to her ears.

"Yes," he confessed softly.

"You knew that she lived?" Marius and Cosette were looking on in shock again, until Enjolras explained the situation to all.

"No, on the contrary, I didn't anticipate she'd make it. I saw Éponine trying to get out, that was all. When everything was chaotic and... And falling apart," he finished through a strained voice, "I figured, until she came to you, that she must not have made it..."

For a moment, everyone was quiet, until Éponine surprised them, but especially Enjolras, by leaning in and smiling at him. "Well, I didn't think you made it either, Monsieur. We really _did_ have angels on our side, didn't we?"

Slowly, Enjolras nodded, and, what Éponine was coming to know as a rarity, his blue eyes smiled as well. "Yes, indeed, Mademoiselle," he concurred, his expression thoughtful. "I wouldn't call myself fortunate, but, for you, yes..."

That caused Éponine's smile to sink, as did Marius's and Cosette's. "Don't say such things, Enjolras," Marius started before Cosette quietly silenced him with a squeeze of her hand.

Éponine swallowed the urge to suddenly wish to take the man's hand. She planted her hands firmly together in her lap, her brown eyes warm and kind as they could be.

"Perhaps one day you'll feel differently, Monsieur," came her gentle remark, exclusively for Enjolras's ears, as Marius was engaged in a private conversation with his wife. "After all, God works in mysterious ways, but He always has a reason for why things happen as they do."

Enjolras's sandy-colored eyelashes caught the breathtaking sunlight peeking through his window. "I know nothing of your life, Éponine, but I imagine it hasn't been easy." He paused, his eyes searching hers. "After everything you've been through, including your...heartache, you're telling me you still believe in God?"

Éponine stared at him, breathless for a moment, before a genuine smile spread across her lips. "Yes, Enj—Monsieur," she corrected herself in front of her hosts, now watching them and listening in on their conversation. "You survived, as did I. Perhaps we aren't meant to know why, but there's surely a reason in it. Consider it another one of God's mysterious acts of mercy."

After a lengthy pause in which the two soaked in one another's understanding expression, Enjolras seemed to consent quietly to Éponine's words. "Well, for both of our sakes," he answered, his voice much quieter than before, "I hope you're right..."

* * *

"Was my instruction too overwhelming, Éponine?"

"No, not at all, Mad—_Cosette_. It just feels...strange to me is all."

"I know. I still remember the first weeks I spent with my father. I didn't know there was a proper way to sit or dine or what have you. It took some getting used to."

"I... I really am not much of a lady, I'm afraid," Éponine giggled away her nerves as best she could, keeping pace with Cosette as they mindlessly strolled through Monsieur Gillenormand's garden. Now that September had rolled in, the days were warm but no longer overbearing. "I mean, not that I didn't know before that I wasn't... I - I'm just embarrassed at my, erm, lack of proper etiquette, I suppose."

"You put too much emphasis on memorization," Cosette tittered, her laughter light and airy—even _prettier_, Éponine wanted to mope—than her own. "Once you become familiar and practice, it will be second nature to you, I promise."

"I hope so..."

Cosette turned her head and smiled encouragingly. "How are you liking it here?"

It had been nearly two weeks since Éponine's arrival, and she never would have considered staying this long in another person's home, let alone someone of such wealth and stature. On the one hand, Éponine felt as awkward and at odds with the miraculous change that had befallen her as ever. On the other, she could attest to her heart's growing attachment to the place. The awareness manifested mostly when left to her own devices, allowing Éponine to wander the halls filled with awe-inspiring artwork, busts and sculptures, and, of course, the colorful garden that had become hers and Cosette's frequent midday stroll.

Éponine was also—_slowly_—becoming fond of Cosette as well. Giving up the skeptic angle that it all had to be pretense, Éponine fell into a comfortable rhythm with her newfound friend and, although still reluctant and shy, she tried her utmost best to open herself up to Cosette's friendliness and thoughtful instruction. Cosette would explain in great detail the duties and expectations of a lady, correct Éponine's decorum without putting her down, and engage her so easily in bettering herself that Éponine sometimes could hardly believe the transformation taking place.

Today, she returned Cosette's genuine smile, which illustrated her answer to the lady's question. They paused near an overgrown hedge of yellow roses that were beginning to show their signs of the coming autumn season and sat together on a stone bench, taking in the lush greenery that would, before too long, wither and die.

"I'm liking it here very much," Éponine confessed, lacing her hands together and doing her best not to slouch; it was considered 'unladylike' to not maintain proper posture, or so she had been informed numerous times in the short span she had been practicing. No one ever told her growing up that she slumped her shoulders and walking with no pride or dignity in her step. Perhaps it was the weight of her former life that allowed for such behavior to go uncorrected...

"Oh! I nearly forgot to tell you," Cosette piped up excitedly, "your books should be arriving today."

"Oh, that's wonderful!"

Éponine could barely contain her enthusiasm any longer. She had wanted to get started straight away, but without the reading material needed for practice, Enjolras and Cosette had to discuss what books to purchase. Her mind had been too preoccupied to even entertain the idea of money, and, thus, Éponine tried to refuse the Pontmercies paying for her books and supplies, but she was swiftly overruled. Marius ordered the books whilst away at the university, and, since then, it had been utter torture waiting for them to arrive.

Until Éponine recently realized that it wasn't the books alone that had her so anxious...

"Éponine?"

Éponine blinked. Cosette was eying her with concern, and she blushed at allowing herself to get caught up in her private thoughts.

"Sorry," she hastily apologized, "I was just thinking how I can't wait to get started. I... I hope it isn't too late."

"Nonsense, Éponine, it's _never_ too late to learn."

That made Éponine's soft smile widen. A heavy burden somewhere was lifting in her heart. It would take a great deal more care and effort to completely let go of her past and embrace her brighter future, but Éponine could sense the shift occurring, and each passing day brought with it more hope and more reason to hope.

_It's not merely this lifestyle though, is it, Éponine? You're curious about that gentleman, that Enjolras, aren't you?_

"Enjolras is a far better suitor to tutor you," Cosette continued, unmindful of Éponine's musings; or were they concerns? "I'm so glad he volunteered. He's receiving an education himself, so you'll learn so much from him."

"I daresay I will."

"When he and Marius were going over what books to purchase, I must confess I haven't seen Enjolras so..." Éponine raised her eyebrows, waiting. "Enthusiastic is probably the wrong word, but I'll have to go with it for lack of a better one. Enjolras can be so comically serious," Cosette giggled and pressed a hand to her mouth. "Not that I blame him, considering what he's gone through, but, well, excitement isn't an expression in him I've seen since he came here. I think his tutoring you may very well help him as much as you."

"Help him?" Éponine angled her head curiously. "How so?"

"Considering how down Enjolras has been, I think your tutoring sessions will give him something to do. Marius mentioned 'purpose' to me before... We both believe it will not only give him something to occupy his time with, but he may feel like he has purpose again. I hope it boosts his spirits; Marius and I both would love to see him engage in life again..."

"Oh! Well, yes, I would like that very much too."

"I didn't know Enjolras at all before he came here, but, if I'm to go by Marius's explanations, as well as my own instincts and insight, I think he could use with finding some _meaning_ again."

Cosette's eyes turned away from Éponine, and the sadness that reached the young lady's face matched Éponine's as well. The former, less ladylike girl of the streets was no longer aware of slouching, her body language pairing with the unhappy frown she displayed.

"One can only imagine how he must be feeling..."

Of course, for Éponine, that wasn't entirely true. She had already gathered a great deal on her own how Enjolras was feeling by the continuous night terrors he had—and which she overheard nightly. His lack of outgoing demeanor further attested to how depressed and withdrawn the once passionate revolutionary had become. Not that Éponine saw him often, but the few encounters she had had thus far were heartbreaking, and at the same time, intriguing.

"Perhaps you'll bring him out of his shell," Cosette offered lightly, her upbeat countenance returning. "I know Marius, for one, would like to see his friend smiling again, as would I."

"Yes..." Éponine murmured with a faraway look in her eyes.

Cosette's sudden burst of laughter recaptured her attention. When she met Cosette's face, she found the blonde shaking her head, but teasingly.

"You're slouching again, Éponine," she tried to reprimand, though she was giggling too much for her vigilance to be taken seriously.

Éponine smiled and straightened. "I'm sorry," she readily laughed along. "This is all just so..."

"Peculiar? You've never had anyone to tell you otherwise, Éponine. It's quite all right."

Slowly, they rose and made their way back to the house. It was only once Éponine had a few quiet moments to herself whilst Cosette and an arriving doctor checked in on Enjolras that her mind wandered back to their short conversation in the garden.

_Purpose?_ Éponine's brow knitted, her mouth forming into a tight, concentrated grimace. _But he had been so charismatic and passionate once... It's people like me who feel as he does—hopeless and defeated; he has the advantage of opportunity, money, an education... Surely, he'll find his purpose again. I have very little to do with that._

_What's_ your _purpose, Éponine?_ she found herself asking as she gazed out the window, looking pensive and unsure. Éponine exhaled, releasing her built up frustrations. _To move past your heartache... To find joy and peace. Yes..._ Éponine's frown deepened as she thought on the once charismatic, curly-haired gentleman laying physically wounded and spiritually broken upstairs. _Shouldn't that be his focus as well?_ _Yes, it should. Perhaps we're not so different at all, him and I..._

* * *

Éponine aimlessly wandered back to her room without the intention of heading in that direction. She probably could have found something to occupy her time with while Cosette and the doctor were otherwise engaged, but the few times she passed Molly, the maid, either heading towards the kitchen or coming and going from the parlor where she found herself pacing, the disgusted sneer the old woman projected was enough to send Éponine scurrying elsewhere. It was these moments that reminded Éponine—or brought her to the sorry conclusion—that she was acting a fool. She was half tempted to rip the alluring, maroon dress she was wearing right off, or toss her shoes aside and at least walk barefoot again.

This wasn't her life. _You'll adapt_, she would tell herself when the anxiety hit, always unexpectedly. She was disguising herself as something better than who she actually was. _Cosette was once as you are now. Don't be ridiculous._

Éponine had reached the top of the landing on the second level and was about to head off in the direction of her quarters when Cosette called to her from down the hall. She was standing just outside Enjolras's bedroom with the door ajar, and Éponine made her way down the darkened corridor in haste.

"Is something wrong?" she inquired once she reached Cosette's side.

"No, not at all," she whispered back, gesturing towards her guest inside the room.

Enjolras was laying in bed as usual but his eyes were shut; he didn't seem aware of her or Cosette standing in the doorway, quietly observing him and another figure in the room, an elderly gentleman dressed in a fine, black waistcoat and bushy mustache: the doctor. He was seated on the bed next to Enjolras and had his patient's night shirt opened, exposing Enjolras's lightly furred chest.

Éponine's eyes immediately zoned in on the two prevalent wounds on his chest and abdomen. The one on his chest was particularly gruesome, though not festering, as the doctor dabbed at the scarred skin gently with a washcloth, using a nearby bowl to repeatedly cleanse the wound as he thoroughly examined his patient.

"Do you have a similar wound?" she was vaguely aware of Cosette inquiring.

"I... Yes..." she answered, not following Cosette's train of thought.

"I thought perhaps you might want Dr. Roux to examine you whilst he's here?"

"Oh!" Eponine adamantly shook her head. "Thank you, but I'm quite all right."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, but thank you."

"Very well." Cosette's blue eyes returned to Enjolras, as did Éponine's, which had hardly looked away from the bullet wounds since catching sight of them. "The one bullet nearly severed his collar bone. Dr. Roux said one or two inches higher and he's not sure what anyone could have done for him..."

As the silence stretched between the two women watching the doctor's examination, Cosette leaned into Éponine and daintily touched her arm. "I thought you might keep him occupied for a time this afternoon? I need to run an errand in town with Molly; I won't be long."

Éponine nodded her compliance, though her eyes never averted from the pale man slumbering quietly, his wounds exposed for all to see. "Of course, as you wish." She was quite taken aback by the extensiveness of Enjolras's injuries. She suspected they had to be quite bad, but her suspicions paled to what her eyesight was soaking in. "He's lucky to be alive. How on earth did he manage to get away?"

It was a question she hadn't meant to utter aloud, though the mysteries surrounding Enjolras's remarkable escape lingered and were gossiped throughout the house. It was then that Enjolras's heavy eyelids opened, if only halfway, and Éponine found herself on the receiving end of an unappreciative glare that made her cheeks burn.

"With difficulty," Enjolras surprised them both, his voice slightly hoarse but loud enough to be heard across the room. "And thank you, but I have no need for a caretaker to keep an eye on me whilst you're out, Madame Pontmercy."

To this, both Cosette and the doctor laughed in unison, and it was Éponine alone who picked up on Enjolras's ill temperament. The doctor shook his head and continued his examination, spreading a disinfectant on the wounds that made Enjolras wince and hiss through his teeth.

"You sly fox," Cosette carried on tittering; Éponine, however, went stiff as a board. "And here, we thought you were sleeping and would allow us to gossip about you in peace!"

Enjolras seemed to be trying not to recoil from the doctor's ministrations, and his upper body tensed as he made to keep his steady gaze. "I prefer candidness to roundabout whispers."

Cosette shook her head and walked into the room with Éponine following quietly behind. "Are we finished?" Enjolras pressed the doctor, finally turning his attention to the man seated next to him.

"Not quite, Monsieur. The wounds aren't festering and the stitches are holding, which are good signs, but they're still in need of more healing. I need to re-patch them yet before we're through."

Enjolras made a disgruntled face that Dr. Roux didn't catch. He fell back against his pillows and slowly eyed Éponine, who was unaware that she had resumed staring at the torn, reddened flesh from whence the bullets had entered. She had also unconsciously touched her stomach, which Enjolras's eyes trailed to, an understanding dawning on his sharp features.

"Your wound?" he quietly gestured with a slight nod of his head.

"Yes," Éponine returned, quickly moving her hand away. "I - I'm sorry, Monsieur."

Enjolras gave her a befuddled lookover. "Whatever for?"

"For your..."

She motioned towards his own visible injuries, disheartened and sympathetic, and neither said a word about it. There didn't appear to be any need for remarks.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle..."

Éponine forced a weak smile, one which Enjolras couldn't return; she understood why and took no offense when he turned away from her. He closed his eyes and allowed Dr. Roux to begin wrapping his wounds in fresh bandages. Cosette silently moved closer to Éponine to reiterate her request that she stay with Enjolras a while.

"Are - Are you sure?" Éponine wasn't nervous about staying put; rather, she preferred to respect the man's wishes if the he wanted to be left alone, as expressed already. "Monsieur said—"

"I know, but he shouldn't be left alone too long. I'd prefer, with you here, if you stayed with him...if you're willing?"

"Very well," Éponine complied and quietly took a seat in the same sofa chair she had secretly sat in before.

Within a half hour, Dr. Roux completed his examination and softly gave instructions to Cosette on keeping the bandages clean. He also prescribed several tonics for pain that he placed on the end table for future use. All the while, Enjolras's eyes never reopened, his body lax and as comfortable-appearing as could be, though Éponine suspected he wasn't actually asleep but pretending to be.

Finally, Cosette escorted Dr. Roux out of the room and down the hallway. It was only once their footsteps faded away that Éponine re-shifted her position in order to get comfortable, when Enjolras's voice suddenly filled the void, half frightening her out of her chair.

"You needn't stay."

Once she recovered, Éponine narrowed her eyes reprimandingly. "With all due respect, Monsieur, was that really necessary?"

Enjolras looked on, confused. "Was _what_ necessary?"

"Pretending to tune the doctor out?"

To that, Enjolras's entire face relaxed. "I haven't the slightest inkling of what you're talking about."

"Quite." Éponine watched Enjolras sigh and turn his head away from her. "You _need_ to listen to him, you know, or you'll never recover."

"_Oh?_" Enjolras may not have been looking at her, but his tone was scathing. "Are we an expert on the practice of medicine?"

"I... No..."

"Then do not speak on a matter you know nothing about."

"Fine, suit yourself."

Éponine folded her arms over her chest and defiantly turned towards the window, where very little sunlight peeked through the gray clouds. The overcast skies seemed to set the mood rather well; or perhaps it was a happy coincidence. Either way, Éponine let the silence linger for a time, until she was sure Enjolras was asleep and she could return her attention to him without getting caught staring.

Instead, Éponine was startled to find him blatantly watching her. His eyes were heavy from very little sleep—she knew the source of that—and the bags beneath them were quite harsh from such a close proximity. Her expression immediately softened and she leaned forward in her chair, her arms still crossed.

"It's all right, Mon—"

"_Enjolras_," he interrupted in a whisper, "remember? You may call me Enjolras when not in other company..."

"Well, I suppose now that we're alone that's appropriate." She smiled as warmly as she could, whilst Enjolras continued to roam over her face, though she couldn't decipher what he was thinking. "It's all right, Enjolras. Go to sleep."

Enjolras pressed her with a question of a personal nature, though. "Do you ever dream about the trauma?"

Éponine could only guess that it lack of sleep that was the cause for the very private and reserved gentleman she had always gathered Enjolras to be asking such a question. However, she didn't object to his prying and bowed her head in acknowledgment.

"Yes... Quite often. I dream of many things that have happened in my past..."

Enjolras didn't answer right away. His eyelashes fluttered a few times and he kept his focus on her as much as possible.

"Are you ever afraid to go to sleep at night?"

"Yes... All the time."

Without saying a word, Éponine wholeheartedly understood what Enjolras wanted to convey but, even when sleep-deprived, couldn't bring himself to confess: it was the same for him. The vulnerability barely perceivable behind the icy, blue eyes made Éponine's chest constrict. Quietly, she reached out her hand but the reality of what she was doing caught her off balance, and she hastily withdrew the gesture of wanting to touch him—perhaps his hand or his arm.

"It's all right, Enjolras," Éponine insisted, her voice soothing, though near breakable. "Try to relax and empty your mind. Don't think about what may happen, just allow your mind to wander."

"That simple, is it?" he murmured, his eyes drifting shut, but not before catching Éponine's returning smile.

"Nothing's that simple, but it's worth a try."

It wasn't long before Enjolras's breathing steadied, rising and falling in an even rhythm. Éponine fell back in her chair, watching him sleep and uncertain of the warming exchange they had just shared.

* * *

*** Translation:** "_...a better life._"


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I don't really have an excuse for the tardiness of this update, only that I've been going through a fairly tough time recently and haven't found joy in writing like I used to... Updates may be infrequent until things (hopefully) get sorted out, but I'll do my best...  
**

**Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

_**"To be struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight..."**_  
_**-Les Misérables**_

* * *

Enjolras awoke to the soft sound of turning pages. Confused, he rolled over to discover Éponine exactly where she had been when he drifted off to sleep: sitting in the worn sofa chair, though positioned ladylike with her feet on the floor rather than curled up with her knees bent to her chest. She held a thick book in her hands—one of his own—and was thoughtfully flipping through each page, her eyes transfixed on the text, which he found more than a little perplexing, considering the young woman couldn't read.

"Looking for something?" he groggily inquired, startling her to the point that the book nearly dropped out of her hands.

"Oh!" she gasped, a wave of awareness washing over her. She giggled nervously. "Sorry, I... I like looking at the pages."

"Looking?" he repeated, not following her thought process.

"The text." She roamed her delicate fingers over one of the pages to illustrate her point. "I can't understand any of it—_yet_—but the words themselves are rather...beautiful to look at, if - if that makes any sense? It's language, ideas mashed together to make something thoughtful and coherent; something valuable and sacred..."

Her cheeks gained more color at Enjolras's silence, as well as his furrowed brow. Sensing that she had just sputtered nonsensically, her cheeks began to burn.

"Do you think me foolish?"

Enjolras didn't answer right away. Rather, he tried to shift himself upright by propping several pillows against the headboard. Once he was more comfortably positioned, he regarded her with less tension—or perhaps puzzlement—outlining his face.

"No," he answered quietly, though Éponine wasn't convinced.

"Are you mocking me, Monsieur?"

"No, not at all, Éponine. In fact, I share your opinion. You're correct. Words are knowledge, words are power, words are...yes, _quite beautiful_, if you can develop the tools for using them as such."

Éponine's face brightened, like the flame of a candle sprouting to life. She carefully shut the book and handed it back to Enjolras, who shook his mop of curly, golden locks in refusal. Her smile turned into a quizzical frown.

"No, hang onto it. You may find it stimulating once you come to understand what it says."

"But..." Éponine turned over the book with newfound skepticism. "It's a law book, isn't it?"

Enjolras's angelic features didn't give way to any parting information, however, much to her dismay. What good would a book like _that_ do her?

"Perhaps it is," Enjolras shrugged off her inquiring, though there was a hint of playfulness—a small glimmer—in his eyes she hadn't recognized before. "Perhaps not. Either way, I'm not telling you. You'll have to read it and find out for yourself."

"_This?_" Éponine's brown eyes grew as large as saucers. She flipped through the pages to further exaggerate her point. "You honestly expect me to be able to read _all_ of this?"

"Of course I do. Not now, naturally, but eventually, yes. Why wouldn't I?" When Éponine didn't answer, only eyed him sidelong as if he had gone entirely off his rocker, the glint of amusement vanished, replaced by a grave look Éponine knew well. "I'll be tutoring you to read, Éponine. Have you no faith in my abilities to help you?"

"What? No, of course I do, Mon—_Enjolras_. I just... I figured I would learn the basics, but that it may be too late to..."

Enjolras's eyebrows rose. "To what?" Reading her hesitation with ease, he added, "You don't think you're at all capable, is that it?"

"I didn't say that."

"No, you said it differently, but you implied the same message."

"I did _not_."

"Why do you think so little of yourself?"

"Why do you presume so much without knowing a thing about me?" she challenged, finding she didn't like the severity of Enjolras's tone, even if she knew he meant no harm by it.

"On the contrary, I don't presume to know anything," Enjolras replied with, to her, a surprisingly gentleman-like tone, one that was both reserved and polite. "You've already told me before that you aren't a lady, have assumed that you can't change or better your life, and have just now informed me that you don't think you can improve your knowledge. To me, that's a person who sees very little value in herself."

Éponine turned away quickly, gliding a hand over the cover of the book she held and inspecting it with keen interest. "With all due respect, I think I know myself far better than you do," she mumbled, though not low enough for Enjolras not to hear.

The few wrinkles on Enjolras's forehead heightened, making him appear older, even wiser, than his years. "You don't believe you deserve a chance."

Although Éponine wanted to be affronted, his words rung true. She decidedly chose not to look at him, however, and slowly shook her head in an attempt to spurn his spot-on candor.

"Considering who I am, Enjolras," she began cautiously, "and where I've come from and who my parents are..."

"I know who they are."

The candidness of that remark, and the fact that it carried no suggestion of discrimination, caught Éponine off balance. She met the intensity of his thoughtful, blue eyes, feeling more unsettled than before.

"You do?" Her voice barely carried across the small gap that divided them, but Enjolras nodded in return, his expression not betraying his tone as she would have expected.

"Yes, I do. I don't intend to judge you for your family, Éponine. They chose their path long ago, and their decisions shouldn't undermine, nor overshadow, your own. You have a choice, with a clear path before you that leads to something better. Walking it will be half the battle, the other will be coming to accept yourself under these new conditions that society will place on you. And, I'm afraid, that's not something anyone else can help you navigate. You'll have to find your way through it on your own."

"On my own," Éponine murmured, her visage poised and reflective.

_That's nothing new to me._

"You must start by being less critical of yourself; it will only hinder your ability to learn."

"I see..."

Enjolras sighed and eased his head back against his pillow, his eyelids growing heavy. "Is it Madame Pontmercy?"

His question was so direct, and so unexpected, that, at first, Éponine could do nothing except blink several times. Her heart suddenly began to race. Was the gentleman insinuating something? Was there some accusation to be born from his harsh-sounding inquiry? Éponine reacted by narrowing her eyes.

"I don't follow."

"Are you sure of that, Mademoiselle?"

"You _are_ mocking me."

"You make an awful lot of assumptions for accusing others of the same," Enjolras retorted, keeping his voice level and controlled.

"Why did you bring her up then?"

"Only to understand what makes you so hesitant to move forward. Judging by your reaction the other day about Marius—"

"Please don't bring that up again..."

Enjolras regarded her grimly, his mouth cast in a concerned frown. "Have you dealt with the matter?"

Trying not to appear as mortified as she felt, Éponine answered through gritted teeth, "Yes, as a matter of fact, I have."

"I'm relieved to hear it."

Éponine abruptly shoved the book back towards Enjolras with more emphasis than she had reckoned. She quickly brushed off her dress and rose to her full height, looking down upon a now befuddled Enjolras, whose eyes darted from the book to her and back again.

"I see you had no nightmares this time."

Enjolras blinked, a cautiously indifferent expression forming on his pallid face. "No... I suppose I didn't..."

"That is good, Monsieur."

Enjolras noted the shift in her icy tone of voice and couldn't help but grimace. He knew he could be brusque, but that was his nature, and hadn't he warned her already? By pointing out her insecurities and attempting to help her move past the hesitations that held her back, Enjolras realized he was expected to pay the price for it.

"Now that you're awake, it would seem there's no reason for me to stay unless you require anything else?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

Éponine bit her bottom lip to keep from snapping. "Yes?"

"You would do well to be more guarded with your emotions. It's unbecoming to strangers."

"_I... I'm sorry?_" Éponine's mouth fell open, and even more so when Enjolras's hard expression broke into rough, unruly laughter.

"Éponine, you're to be a Mademoiselle. You'll find that people in high society are far more circumspect. Their faces aren't nearly as open and honest and forthright as...yours, I'm afraid. It's something you'll want to work on safekeeping for yourself and yourself alone." When Éponine opened her mouth to object, the heat in her eyes obvious, Enjolras added, "Trust me, you'll thank me for it later."

_Doubtful!_ she wanted to scream but, thankfully, refrained.

Éponine straightened her shoulders and offered Enjolras a curt bow; the anger that projected from where she stood could cut the atmosphere like a knife. She needed to escape this small confinement, and quickly.

"Good day, Monsieur."

"_Enjolras_," he interrupted as she made to leave; Éponine peered at him over her shoulder, her eyes still tapered. "Given the circumstances of me being your future instructor, you should call me Enjolras. It's easier that way." His irises too turned into near slits as he appended, with bite, "Provided it isn't _too unbearable_ for you."

Éponine could feel the embarrassment of the situation churning her stomach. She turned around with the wrath in her expression dissipated.

"I'm sorry, Enjolras," she apologized softly, bringing her hands together. "I know you mean well. I suppose I'm still struggling to come to terms with how drastically my life has changed these past two weeks. Nay, these past two months. My life's been turned upside down and my emotions are...unguarded. Do forgive my lack of civility? I... I don't mean to be so rude."

Enjolras searched her pretty, carmel-colored eyes quietly before complying with a dip of his head. "I understand, Éponine, thank you. I hope this isn't a sign of things to come in our lessons, however?"

"No, Mon—_Enjolras_. Again, I apologize."

"Apology accepted."

Enjolras instructed her silently to take back the book she had thrust into his hands, and Éponine accepted it with another polite bow. Not sure what else to say, Enjolras chose to end their conversation by burrowing himself beneath his blankets. He didn't look all that comfortable, leaving Éponine to suspect that his injuries had done more damage than what met the eyes.

"Can I get you anything?" she offered in a much gentler tone than before.

Enjolras, it would seem, wasn't remotely interested in furthering their discussion or accepting anything from her. Rather, he looked depleted and tired, and he answered with a small toss of his head.

"No, thank you, I'm fine. You may go."

"Very well. Oh! Madame Pontmercy mentioned that my books should be arriving today. In fact," she gazed towards his open window, "any moment now."

"I'm glad to hear it. We'll begin tomorrow then."

"All right."

Enjolras's eyelids flickered a few times before he mumbled, "Until tomorrow then," and turned away from her in bed to rest, leaving Éponine to stand awkwardly where she was, watching him as he started to fall back asleep.

"Until tomorrow then..."

* * *

Éponine awoke the next morning revitalized and excited. Her books had arrived with Marius upon his return from university as Cosette anticipated, and now she would be able to begin her tutoring sessions as she had been longing to for days. The only disquieting inkling that remained was the previous conversation she had had with Enjolras, which had touched upon sensitive nerves she wasn't prepared for anyone to uncover. It was as though the man, still a relative stranger, had peeled back several layers to her person, laying bare her fragilities as though they were common knowledge.

_Maybe you really_ do _need to work on better masking your emotions_, she considered gravely, climbing out of bed and setting about dressing herself for the day.

Molly was supposedly going to be along to help her get ready this morning, but, as had been the case several mornings already, she hadn't shown, and Éponine wasn't about to hold a grudge about it, nor complain to the Pontmercies. She preferred to dress herself anyhow. That crabby old woman was purposely rough with her whenever they were alone, strapping her corset too tightly and practically pulling strands of her hair out whenever throwing it up into a half or full bun.

Besides, she liked having the early morning to herself, if only to be alone with her thoughts. Although this morning held promise and an air of eagerness, Éponine hadn't slept all too well. _Not that_ that's _anything new._ As she set to brushing her wavy, dark locks while gazing into a small handheld mirror, as it was all that had been given to her by the bad-tempered maid, Éponine's mind wandered to the recovering gentleman down the hall. She had heard those cries yet again sometime during the night, just as she had many nights before, and found the circumstances increasingly disconcerting. Both times that she stayed in his room whilst he slept, she hadn't heard Enjolras make a sound, and yet, when she wasn't around, the cries never let up, even if they were fairly infrequent.

_It's probably the comfort in not being alone_, Éponine concluded with a mere shrug. She craned her neck to hover over the mirror that now lay flat on her writing desk so she could use both hands to tie back her hair. _You remember how you slept better the nights Azelma crept into your room. Those were the only nights you both managed a decent night's sleep._

By the time she was through making her hair somewhat presentable, Éponine resorted to dressing herself, giving up on Molly making an appearance entirely, and tread downstairs for breakfast, fidgeting with her latest ensemble like always. Even after a few weeks spent in the lovely confinements of Monsieur Gillenormand's home, as well as the regular company of high society, it was still very odd for the poor young woman from the Parisian gutters to be clothed in material that wasn't torn and tattered or covered in mud. Wearing a suitable corset in itself had been an adjustment to the flimsy, poorly concocted article she had worn for years. Trying to lace it herself was nearly impossible, but she made due the best she could, ignoring the smug smiles she sometimes caught from Molly when passing her by in the corridors.

When Éponine entered the room, Monsieur Gillenormand was already seated, and greeted her warmly from his spot at the head of the table. "Come in, my dear," he beckoned to her to have a seat to his right, which she meekly complied to with a slight curtsey. Once seated, Éponine's hungry eyes roved over the table, surprised to see not two but three more place settings.

"Are you expecting company this morning, Monsieur?" she asked as docilely as possible.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, of course!" he chuckled and his bushy mustache gave a happy twitch. "Enjolras will finally be joining us this morning."

"Oh!" Éponine couldn't contain her surprise.

"I think giving the man a change of scenery might cheer him up a bit. Marius has been suggesting so for some time, but, well, we wanted to wait and see what Dr. Roux said; must take necessary precautions when it comes to the relentless fevers he was having for a while."

"Oh, yes, of course."

"I'm told Enjolras has volunteered to tutor you in reading and writing?"

"Yes, he has, Monsieur. I... I'm most grateful to be given the opportunity."

"And you _should_ have it, my dear. I daresay it will do Enjolras a world of good too."

"Yes, so I've been told."

Monsieur Gillenormand's grey eyes turned grim. "He's been secretly miserable for a long time now, poor fellow. I can tell; not that I blame him. Who would? What with what he and Marius have gone through... It was their own faults, mind you," he grumbled with a hint of exasperation, "for going and getting themselves into such trouble, but all the same..."

Éponine smiled fondly at the elder gentleman. There was something infectiously warm about the bushy-haired nobleman, despite appearances. Though outwardly cold and snide, Éponine had quickly discovered soon after arriving that he was as genteel and kind as a grandfather could be.

"You're fond of him, Monsieur," she whispered, her kindness extending across their short separation.

"Indeed, I am," he confessed quietly. "I visit with him often; check on him as Marius does. He's a smart young man with considerable promise and a good heart. I'd hate to see him waste his talents on something as drivel as politics."

"You're not fond of the revolution, I trust?" Éponine certainly knew his answer; he very nearly growled in response, causing her to suppress her giggles as best she could.

"Not in the least, Mademoiselle. Oh, I would like to see more done for the less fortunate, to be sure, but I wholeheartedly believe in the monarchy. I see no reason why we should change. None whatsoever."

Éponine couldn't help but muse over what surely delightful, colorful conversations Monsieur Gillenormand and the revolutionist might have had on such a subject; her grin spread wider at the animated image that sprouted to life in her head of the elderly Gillenormand and fiercely passionate Enjolras debating back and forth from dawn until dusk, without taking a moment for breath. Both were equally volatile men, though stubbornly set in their opposing beliefs.

Éponine was about to ask after the amusing vision she had in mind when Cosette came strolling in, hardly making a sound as she took a seat catty-corner to Éponine. She bowed dutifully to both, and Monsieur Gillenormand wasted little time in addressing her before she could so much as open her mouth.

"Is he coming?"

"Yes, Monsieur. Marius is with him now. I thought best to go on ahead."

"Yes, yes, most sensible." He gestured to Molly, who had also recently entered the room, to fill the porcelain cups with hot tea, which she did whilst purposely scowling at Éponine all the while. "I hope the trek down here isn't too much for him to bear?"

"I know, I've worried the same, but Dr. Roux said the exercise would be good for him, as long as he doesn't overexert himself."

"Can he not walk?" Éponine asked, somewhat alarmed.

She knew, of course, that he was still recovering from his wounds, but she thought he might at least be able to get in and out of bed on his own. Cosette confirmed her fears with a somber shake of her head.

"He can, but not far, and not at all well. It's going to take time before he'll be able to manage much on his own."

"Cripple a man and you might as well rob him of his dignity too," Monsieur Gillenormand muttered, which quieted the room thereafter. Cosette and Éponine readily drank their tea in silence, reflective on the elder's choice words.

After several minutes, soft shambling near the entrance caught everyone's attention, and the three turned to find Marius gingerly leading Enjolras into the room by his arm. In his opposite hand, Enjolras held fast to a cane, which Éponine instantly concluded had to be a lender from Monsieur Gillenormand himself, seeing as he had several that he substituted on a daily basis.

A bit winded and still looking quite pale, Éponine couldn't help but wonder if Enjolras was indeed well enough to join them at all, though he was handsomely dressed for the occasion. He wore an attractive plum-colored waistcoat, beige vest, black trousers, and matching high boots. If one glanced at the striking gentleman from a distance, Éponine gathered that they would never have sensed the emotional and physical challenges he had endured. Éponine also suspected that only she could perceive the hint of debauched pride in Enjolras's eyes, which were once bright and alive, now terribly sheltered and reserved.

Enjolras greeted them all with a civilized bow that, to Éponine, seemed rather strained and subdued. She couldn't help but sympathize, and tried not to let her reaction show as Marius helped him maneuver into a chair opposite her, between Monsieur Gillenormand and Cosette. Marius then came around to occupy an empty chair next to her, and, for the first time since her arrival, the once besotted Éponine thought nothing of being so close to him. Rather, her eyes were focused on the former freedom fighter directly across from her.

"Good to see you up and about," Monsieur Gillenormand subtly brought a hand up to squeeze Enjolras's shoulder, a motion of attachment that didn't faze anyone in the room, though Éponine admittedly found their exchange fascinating.

"Thank you, Monsieur."

"How are you feeling this morning?"

"Very well, thank you," he fibbed, something that everyone knew to be untrue and willingly ignored, including Éponine.

Their eyes briefly met when Enjolras's swept the table. Éponine smiled as pleasantly as possible, but the unenthusiastic response she received for her efforts wasn't at all surprising. Keeping his mouth firmly shut, Enjolras simply tipped his head, and a few stray curls brushed elegantly across his eyes, catching the natural light that trickled in from a window at her back.

If Éponine could describe the delicacy of such a moment aloud, and had she not been entirely distracted by it to begin with, she would have called the gentleman's mere head toss 'bewitching.' Instead, she bit her bottom lip, confounded by the strange gravitational pull that such a gesture provoked, and quickly looked away, just as Enjolras too returned his attention to the platter of mouth-watering food in front of him.

_Éponine, what was_ that_? Did you just... No. You're overly excited, that's all. Speaking of which, get a hold of yourself!_

Marius scooted in his chair, eying Éponine sidelong, and, unawares of the concerns formulating in her head, piped up, "So, Éponine, I understand you'll be beginning your studies with Enjolras today?"

"I— Yes," she stammered, feeling like an utter fool, though no one else seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary.

Enjolras took a bite of his buttered bread before addressing her, his impressive stare pinning her into the back of her chair. "You have your books, I trust?" he inquired, to which she nodded accordingly.

"Yes, I do, Monsieur."

"Good. We can begin shortly after breakfast." He turned to Monsieur Gillenormand, his expression reserved and as serious as ever. "That is, Monsieur, if you wouldn't mind lending us use of your parlor for Mademoiselle's first lesson? I think we both can agree that the parlor is better suited for her studies than my," he awkwardly cleared his throat, "personal quarters."

"Yes, yes, that's fine, Enjolras, although," he regarded Marius's friend with careful consideration, much like he did his own grandson, "Dr. Roux said you shouldn't overdo it. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to teach from the comforts of your bed?"

If the old man thought the proposal improper or the slightest bit humiliating, he didn't show it. Éponine caught the flush of scarlet that emerged on Enjolras's high, perfectly carved cheeks and darted her eyes about the room as a form of distraction. Cosette and Marius, however, seemed otherwise unaffected.

"No, Monsieur, the parlor should do fine."

"Very well, if you insist. I still say you should get yourself back into bed when breakfast is through, but then, I'm an old man, and, with that remarkable privilege, it seems to offer me very little say anymore."

"Nonsense, Grandfather," Marius chimed in with a humored smirk. Enjolras too nearly smiled, though it was more out of respect than actuality; or perhaps that was Éponine's misinterpretation. "You have the luxury of being able to tell Enjolras to do whatever you so desire. In fact, _I encourage it._ The man never listens to me."

"You would," Enjolras sputtered, which only earned him more snickering at his expense. "As to your concerns, Monsieur, I thank you, but you needn't worry. The exercise is good for my legs."

"Yes, well, you young men think you're invincible. Wait until you're as old and decrepit as I am, and you'll tread life far less carelessly."

"Oh, Grandfather, come now," Marius chuckled and shook his head. "Enjolras isn't doing anything Dr. Roux hasn't instructed him to."

Monsieur Gillenormand turned to Éponine and grumbled, "I told you no one listens to me," to which everyone laughed, including her.

"Your advice is very sound, Monsieur." Éponine was surprised to find Enjolras's piercing eyes staring at her, their conveyance unreadable. "I'm sure he'll consider your advice very carefully."

"Yes," Enjolras murmured compliantly, though Éponine wasn't convinced, "I will."

The rest of breakfast passed by pleasantly enough, though Éponine and Enjolras were mostly silent, allowing their three hostesses to fill the room with gossip, general news, and lighthearted banter. None of them seemed to notice Enjolras's rather bleak, worn mien, and Éponine wondered if they were simply choosing to ignore it in an effort to draw him out of his black mood, or if they were truly as oblivious as she feared.

Éponine found herself unconsciously watching Enjolras take the modest of bites and scatter the food around his plate without eating much at all. More than a dozen times, his fetching blue eyes trailed off, either staring absently at his platter, his glass of water, or some other uninteresting table setting. The drastic change from the engaging, lively Enjolras she had so often seen at the café, and later at the barricade, was gone, replaced by someone else, and the more Éponine saw of it, the less certain she grew of who the man really was.

This other person wasn't at all interested in...anything. He was barely responsive and appeared to be going about the daily motions of his life without much thought to the future. The confirmation of what Éponine's eyesight couldn't ignore upset her more as breakfast continued.

"Why don't I help setup the parlor for your use then?"

Marius's suggestion disrupted Éponine's quiet monitoring; it was only then that she realized that breakfast was concluded. Cosette and Monsieur Gillenormand were already getting to their feet and gently hoisting Enjolras out of his chair by the arms, even as he protested that he could handle himself "just fine." Taking his cane in hand, Enjolras reluctantly allowed Cosette to escort him out of the room and down the hall to the parlor, as Éponine followed respectfully at a distance. Monsieur Gillenormand excused himself for the day, though he made sure his guest was comfortably situated at a large writing desk in the room before taking his leave.

Marius properly set the writing desk at an angle so that Éponine could take a seat next to her instructor, then supplied them with plentiful paper and pencils. It would seem that Marius had already taken the liberty of having Éponine's books brought down, as they were neatly stacked when they entered and ready to go.

"Now then," Marius said once he was through setting everything up for them, "do you have everything you need?"

"I believe so," Enjolras replied, shifting about in his wooden chair and trying not to cringe as it squeaked; it wasn't subtle enough to bypass Cosette's attention, who presented a cushion to place behind his chair.

"Is that better?" she asked sweetly, to which Enjolras politely bowed his head and forced a smile.

"Yes, Madame, thank you."

"It's no trouble." Cosette turned her attention from Enjolras to Éponine and back again. "I'll send for some tea later this morning and collect you both for lunch."

"Thank you," they each expressed in gratitude.

Marius informed them that he would be off to the university for most of the day, and then the two newlyweds left the room. Once they were gone, however, the room resumed its stiflingly quiet atmosphere. At such closeness too, Éponine could detect Enjolras's weariness from his trek across the house, as well as his general disgruntlement at being waited on hand and foot; it was all prevalent in his saddened eyes, even with them turned away from her towards one of her books, which he opened and placed in front of her. Éponine waited patiently for him to begin the lesson.

"Are you familiar with any of the alphabet?" he began, looking her straight in the eyes.

Éponine buckled nervously under his unwavering gaze. "Erm, alphabet?"

"Yes, the twenty-six letters that form our language?"

"Only vaguely, Monsieur."

"Enjolras, remember?" he insisted softly. "We're alone now. I don't mind you informally addressing me by my first name."

"Sorry, Enjolras."

"And you needn't apologize either."

Éponine couldn't prevent the heat that warmed her cheeks. Enjolras noticed and grunted, the harshness of his expression dissipating before her eyes. A few curls still hung in his eyes, which Éponine secretly admired as she listened to his instruction.

"These are the twenty-six letters to which I'm referring."

He glided the first page of the book towards her and pointed to the letters with his finger. As Éponine went to slide the book even closer, leaning forward in her chair to get a better look, her hand brushed his, sending a jolt of electricity through her fingers that briefly left her paralyzed. She hastily moved her hand back, as if she had somehow offended him or brought about the same sensation, when Enjolras pushed the book closer, as she had tried to do herself.

"You needn't be shy, Éponine," he insisted, misinterpreting her movement. "They're yours to inspect and study as thoroughly as you wish. Have a look at them first, and then we'll begin with each letter, first learning the enunciation and then putting them to memory."

"Thank you."

Éponine smiled weakly and took the book in her hands, trying to memorize each letter, though it seemed silly as she didn't know what any of them were._ Are you actually going to try to impress him, Éponine?_ her conscience mocked.

_Do shut up!_

_Such a hussy! Why are you even bothering?_

_I'm not doing anything of the sort!_

_Why the sudden interest?_

_Interest?_

_Yes..._

_I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, and, anyway, I'm supposed to be concentrating._

_Very well._

_Humph!_

"Éponine?"

"I... I'm sorry."

"Do you need a moment?"

Éponine's mouth slumped and she lowered her book. "No, why?"

"You look...distracted."

"No, not at all; I promise!"

"All right." Enjolras gestured to have the book back, which he then put in between them. His eyes briefly scanned her face and his voice was strained when he pressed, "You can move a little bit closer if you wish. I won't bite."

For the first time that morning, Éponine smiled fully, and in good humor. "If what I remember of you before all this is any indication to go by, I beg to differ."

She hoped it would bring out his naturally alluring smile for a change, one she had glimpsed before, when he proceeded to laugh twice in her presence. To her surprise, her baiting worked. His lips stretched into a captivating, almost sly grin, and he quickly turned away from her, a few more curls falling against his distinguished nose and long eyelashes.

"That was a different time," he returned after a moment, his genteel smile lessening and his gaze drifting far away. "A different place." His blue eyes slowly drew back to her, and they were no longer smiling. "That was a different me..."

"I don't believe it," Éponine replied in a gentle whisper, unaware that she was gravitating towards him again, subtly but all the same.

"You don't know me. You didn't know me then, just as you don't know me now."

"I know I don't..."

_But I'd like to_, she found herself confessing, if only in her head.

"Then you best not speak of such things."

Like the rug being ripped from underneath her feet, Enjolras's face hardened, ending whatever peculiar exchange they had shared. Éponine blinked several times in an effort to recover.

"Now then, shall we begin?"

Éponine forced some composure and nodded emphatically. "Yes, lets."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and PMs on the last chapter. I'm hoping to be turning a corner here soon, and will continue to do my best to update when I can. _Please keep the feedback coming._ It really encourages my Muse, and I appreciate it so much.  
**

**Also, good luck to ****_Les Mis___****é**rables at tonight's Academy Awards!

**Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

_**"The world I have known is lost in shadow."**_  
**-_Les Misérables_**

* * *

The hour was late when Éponine awoke from her dream, unconsciously clutching her stomach, frantically searching for any evidence of torn flesh or blood. Flushed and sweaty, Éponine immediately sat up and threw back the sheets, allowing the cool, night air to bathe her perspiring skin in a comforting chill. The light breeze on her neck felt divine as she tossed her hair to one side and shimmied out of the comforts of her warm bed, trying to re-gather hers wits.

It wasn't often anymore that Éponine dreamed of her near death experience—how the bullet that ripped through her skin like torn fabric pierced her in the gut, leaving her breathless and in numbed shock. Yet, nightmares weren't unknown to the girl who had risen from ruin, from the darkened corners that the likes of Enjolras knew not.

_Well, not on any personal level..._

Éponine sighed and threw on her shawl. The air was growing chillier; she could feel the autumn settling in, replacing summer's warm embrace. Though the seasons were changing, along with Éponine's circumstances, Enjolras's remained questionable at best.

_Don't concern yourself with it, Éponine_, she reminded herself as she stood by the window overlooking an abandoned cobblestone street and fancy estates. _It's none of your business, even if you _do_ care._

_Care?_ Was she supposed to care about the man when she barely knew anything about him, except for hearsay and what the Pontmercies passed on to her? _Why do you care? I doubt he cares about you..._

_Then would he have agreed to educate me?_

_I'm sure he'd do so for anyone._

_That may be true, but the way he looks at me...sometimes..._

_Don't even go there. That's absurd! Utterly ridiculous! It's in your head._

_...Is it?_

_And anyway, what about Marius?_

_What about him? He's a married man now, and I never stood a chance with him. He was never mine to lose._

_I know but... Well, then whatever this 'caring' is for Enjolras, it's platonic. There's nothing wrong with caring about someone's welfare, is there?_

_No..._

_Then quit over thinking things! I'm sure he doesn't even think twice about you. You're his pupil, and a street rat in more presentable clothing. That's all he sees when he looks at you. That's all anyone will ever see..._

Éponine huffed and wrapped her shawl more securely around her shoulders. She knew she should go back to bed, try and fall back asleep for a few more hours, but her conscience was now fully awakened, and, already being accustomed to so little rest, Éponine climbed back into bed, drawing her knees up to her chest, and allowed her mind to wander as it so often did. She could only hope daydreaming might drive away the unsettling sensations that had washed over her about the strapping, though troubled, tutor down the hall, until a soft moan reached her ears, and her spine straightened against her headboard.

_Enjolras._

Without further consideration to what she was doing, Éponine hopped out of bed, tip toed out of her room, and down the hall to the gentleman's chambers. She wasn't surprised to hear the echo of his nightmares, muffled as they may be. Though they weren't as frequent as they had been when she first arrived weeks ago, Éponine found herself awakening at every turn that they occurred, and couldn't help but wonder, as she crept into Enjolras's room, if he ever overheard her own.

Sure enough, Enjolras was tossing and turning like before, though not as violently as she had seen in nights' past. He was mumbling under his breath as well, calling out into the darkness to his fallen friends, now reduced to nothing but ash and dust.

"You...brought them...to this," she heard him utter in a broken whisper, his head flinching back and forth. "You've...killed them... Killed...them...all..."

Éponine swallowed hard and quickly took a seat on the edge of his bed. Without hesitation, she took Enjolras's hand in hers, awestruck by how quickly his twisted body relaxed to her touch. Within minutes, his contorted expression faded away, leaving his face wrinkle-free and unbothered. His breathing evened, with his mouth slightly gaped, and he didn't so much as twitch as he fell back into an undoubtedly deeper and unperturbed sleep.

How was it possible for her merely taking his hand to have such a drastic effect on him, on them both? Éponine inadvertently smiled and settled in beside him, leaning on her elbow as she watched Enjolras sleep undisturbed. His supple lips were slightly wet, and a glimpse of a lightly furred chest peeked through his nightshirt for her to see.

Éponine had no idea why that made her blush, but she quickly averted her eyes, gazing instead at the larger fingers woven between hers. It seemed odd the way their hands so perfectly 'fit' one another's...

_Don't be silly, Éponine!_ she scolded, swiftly coming to her senses. _Erm, where on earth were you going with that anyway?_

_No idea._

Éponine shook her head to will the confounding thoughts away and slunk her head against the mattress, again near Enjolras's blanketed feet, and willed herself to close her eyes. She no longer worried whether or not she would manage to fall asleep in this room, and in this gentleman's presence—she had already done so several times. Him catching her, however, was another matter, one she would deal with in the morning if it came to it.

For now, Enjolras's warm hand embracing hers was too calming to worry, so she nodded off to sleep, this time unfazed by the dreams that awaited her, knowing that, in Enjolras's presence, they would likely be pleasant ones.

* * *

Éponine's internal clock jolted her out of sleep at dawn, and her ears were greeted by the soft pounding of rain against Enjolras's bedroom window. The place was still quite dark, but shadows of droplets seeped down the walls, giving the soothing illusion of what lay just beyond the dry comforts of home.

_Was this home?_ Éponine couldn't help but wonder. Would she ever feel like she truly belonged here, amongst Marius's and Enjolras's kind?

Choosing to ignore those questions, Éponine focused instead on the humming of the rain. Rainfall had always been a comfort to her since she was a youngster, and it's morning greeting made her smile as she yawned and reluctantly made to sit upright in bed. Then, her voice broke the stillness with a gasp.

If she had hoped to sneak out of Enjolras's room undetected, she was out of luck. Again.

Enjolras was already awake and sitting up against his headboard with his arms criss-crossed over his chest. His icy blue eyes bore into hers as though they might freeze her to the quick. As it was, Éponine _was_ frozen in place by his stare, which she could only conclude was one of outrage mixed with bewilderment.

"Do you make it a habit of sleeping with men you don't know?"

Éponine's mouth fell open. "_I'm sorry?_"

"You heard me." Taking in her look of utter shock, followed by shame, Enjolras groaned and rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry, Éponine, I didn't mean it like _that_. I'm too blunt for my own good."

"Be that as it may..."

"I'm sorry, all right? I just..." He sighed, his hands collapsing onto the bed. "What are you doing here? _Again?_"

Éponine recoiled to the bedpost and her knees bent to her chest, as though she were trying to shield herself from a blow she figured Enjolras would unleash upon her. Her skittish withdrawal didn't escape Enjolras's notice. He threw up his hands, almost as a peace offering.

"Éponine," he replied with, to her, surprising gentleness, "I'm not going to hurt you. I would never..."

The nervous twitch in her eyes shocked him, and Enjolras reacted by leaning slightly forward in bed. "What right would I have to harm you?" His eyebrows angled with worry. "Surely, I've never given you the impression that I'm _that_ sort of person?"

"Oh... I... No, you haven't." Realizing that she was trembling a little, and for no justifiable reason, Éponine slowly unfurled herself, allowing her legs to drape over the side of the bed. "I'm sorry. I wasn't even aware of my reaction. Erm, nature of habit, I suppose."

"I may rightly question what you're doing here, Éponine, but I would never..." Enjolras and Éponine stared at each other for a pause, with Enjolras not being able to suggest what her mannerisms implied. "I'd never do such a thing to you. _Ever_," he finished with feeling.

"I - I know. I'm sorry," she apologized a second time, and then laughed nervously. "I don't know why I did that."

"Because you're used to that sort of action and reaction?"

Éponine bit her lower lip, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Perhaps..."

"You needn't be ashamed, Éponine. Others' ill treatment isn't _your_ fault."

The look Éponine shot him was one of both relief and a desperate pleading to drop the subject. Enjolras respectfully did so with a small grunt. He cleared his throat, his sober expression intact.

"I take it you're here because I had another nightmare that awoke you last night?"

"I... Yes. Well, not _entirely_, I was already awake but..."

"I apologize. I wish there was a way to stop them. It would save you feeling the need to trek down here every other night."

"I don't 'feel the need,'" Éponine hastily responded; realizing the vagueness of her response by the strange manner with which Enjolras met her outburst, she fumbled to give a more polite explanation. "I mean, I _do_ care about what you're going through, Enjolras, please don't misunderstand me, but I - I only wish to help you feel better. I never mean to disrespect your privacy by coming in here unannounced. I figured it was better to try to calm you down rather than wake you, that's all."

"You don't have to explain."

"No, really, I think I do!"

"You've already done so before." Enjolras turned away from her to fiddle with his blankets, leaving Éponine confused by the fresh scowl he wore. "And anyhow," he continued, "shouldn't you be more concerned with Marius?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I thought that's why you came here: to see to it that he was well taken care of."

"I did, yes, but—"

"Then you needn't bother coming here when it isn't warranted."

"Enjolras, I don't under—"

"You may go," he abruptly cut her off with a curt nod, a few curls cascading into his eyes, which he tried to brush away. "I'm sorry again for my inconvenience. I will do my best in the future _not_ to wake you, Mademoiselle."

"Please, Enjolras, don't send me away," she surprised them both by requesting. An uneasy silence hung between them before Éponine broke it by way of further explanation. "I want to help; I really do. I wouldn't be here if I felt any differently."

"I appreciate your concern but—"

"But what?" Éponine shook her head, dismayed, and rattled Enjolras by scooting closer to him. "You think you're the only one who struggles to get to sleep at night? Who has a hard time letting the past go? Believe me, I know what that's like."

She put up a hand to stop Enjolras from speaking, allowing her to press on uninterrupted. "I struggled to sleep so many nights in the convent that sometimes the insomnia was unbearable. You needn't suffer so needlessly. Me being here...it _does_ seem to help you rest better. I'm willing to keep you company if it will help you. In fact, I'd like to, erm, as long as the idea doesn't make you too uncomfortable? I know it's hardly appropriate, but, well..." She struggled to smile through the awkwardness, twisting her hands together in her lap. "What the Pontmercies don't know can't hurt them, right?"

Enjolras didn't so much as blink, hardly knowing how to reply to her offer. An unmarried woman sleeping in his room, under the same roof as his best friend, and all because he couldn't cope with his own mind? His hands tightened around the bedsheets, scrunching and wrinkling them around his fists.

"I know you're coming from a good place, Éponine, but you cannot help me."

"How do you know?" Éponine's brown eyes held more illumination in their depths than Enjolras remembered, and he felt himself being drawn into them against his better judgment. "I can sleep in the sofa chair if that is more preferable. I don't mind."

Enjolras ground his teeth together and darted his eyes about the room, trying to listen to the humming of the rain against his window pane. Why was the young lady's offer so tempting, when it was quite improper and wrong to even suggest such an idea?

Éponine surprised him by lightly touching his arm. When their eyes met again, he found a deep-seated understanding looming behind them, and was short of words.

"Your struggle's safe with me," she insisted quietly, "regardless of whatever you decide."

Enjolras blinked, his gaze falling upon the prettiness of her heart-shaped face. After contemplating the matter, he sighed heavily and uncoiled his hands from the tangled bedsheets.

"I suppose I'm willing to allow you to stop by if it's necessary, but I'd prefer that you simply wake me if I'm keeping you awake, and return to your room. If one of the servants or the Pontmercies were to catch you in here, Éponine, I needn't convey the consequences."

"You think they wouldn't be understanding?"

"I doubt it. Marius is quite practical, like me, but I have a tough time believing even he'd understand _this_. His wife is sweet, but naive, and I daresay she wouldn't appreciate it if she knew."

"I daresay you're right about both." Suddenly aware that she was still touching Enjolras's arm, Éponine drew back, and gave a respectful bow. "I'll be discrete, I promise, and I'll respect your wishes. If you wish me to wake you and return to my quarters, I will."

Enjolras's strong features scrunched as he stammered to release a "Thank you," in response to her help.

"You're welcome," Éponine returned simply with a genuine smile. She silently rose and threw the shawl back around her shoulders, forgetting how exposed she was in her hip-hugging nightgown. "For what it's worth, Enjolras, I hope you're nightmares stop. They seem to have lessened recently, though. Have you noticed?"

Enjolras blinked. "No, I hadn't."

"Mmm. Well, they have. That has to be a good sign of your progress."

"I'd like to think that but..." His voice trailed off, as did his gaze, towards nothing in particular.

Éponine stepped closer. "Really," she insisted in a quiet whisper, smiling faintly when Enjolras peered up at her again. "You're making great strides. That's the important thing, and I... I'm glad. Very glad."

"Are you?"

Éponine's visage turned serious, though her brown eyes remained thoughtful as they stared into his. "Yes, _very_."

Éponine bowed her head again and took her leave, unaware of Enjolras's curious eyes trailing after her as she disappeared beyond his room. Her words, however, lingered behind, despite the overbearing silence that her absence brought.

A shiver tingled down Enjolras's spine, but it had little to do with the early morning cold. Rather, it was something else. Something else entirely.

* * *

"Try again."

Increasingly aggravated, Éponine did her best to focus on the task of forming the few words assigned in her textbook. So far, she gathered that she wasn't doing well at all, although Enjolras hadn't shown any indications of losing patience with her.

Taking in a calculated breath, Éponine read the text for the umpteenth time, slowly at first, then faster and with less errors as her mind and mouth formulated sense of what she was reading. It took most of the morning, but, after accomplishing the feat several times without a single blunder, she beamed at Enjolras, immensely proud of the strides she had made in one short lesson. Enjolras cracked a half smile for her, illustrating in his own quiet way that he too was pleased.

"Would you care for a break?"

His offer surprised Éponine. Normally, they didn't break till mid-morning, and it surely couldn't be so late as yet.

"Oh! I suppose, if you'd like?"

As Éponine rose to stretch her legs, she was taken aback when Enjolras did as well, though it took considerable effort to get to his feet. Usually, he had stayed put when they broke for tea, allowing Éponine to occupy herself for a short while. This routinely consisted of wandering the halls to relax her mind, but it would seem this morning that Enjolras was wishing to do the same.

Using his cane for balance, Enjolras slowly walked behind her out of the room, where he then reared off in the opposite direction, leaving Éponine momentarily stranded in the doorway. "Enjolras?" she called to him; he casually turned his head, waiting. "Might I join you?"

Enjolras nodded reservedly. "If you'd like," he repeated her words from earlier, a peculiar smile drawing across his lips that made Éponine blush.

At first, they strolled together in a rather comfortable silence. The only sounds breaking the quietude were the shuffling of their feet, as well as the faint stomping of Enjolras's cane as he leaned on it to help him walk. His pacing was quite slow, but Éponine didn't mind and preferred not to be rushed, so long as her tutor felt likewise.

"You seem to be finding your bearings," Enjolras finally commented, causing Éponine to turn her head and grin.

"I'd like to think I am."

He eyed her sidelong, his blue irises brighter than before. "You've changed. I can see it."

"Have I?" Éponine chuckled, and a few soft waves of her hair brushed against her rose-colored cheeks. "I'm so clumsy most of the time, I often wonder if I'm making any progress at all."

"_You are_," Enjolras insisted, the feeling in his voice intriguing. "Cosette must be quite the instructor."

"She is, actually."

It somewhat pained Éponine to admit to that reality, but, then again, the dynamics between the two women had changed drastically, and for the better. It was a feat that gave Éponine pause as they continued their casual stroll of the first level of the house.

"Are you feeling more at ease with them now?"

"I'm not quite certain what you mean?"

A muscle in Enjolras's jaw twitched, and he focused his attention ahead. "I fear I'll be too direct if I put my question to you a different way, Éponine."

Éponine halted their walk altogether, which forced Enjolras to stop as well and gaze down into her slightly angst-ridden expression. "I think I _do_ know what you're getting at, and the answer is yes," she confessed, keeping her voice low; Éponine wasn't sure why she felt comfortable enough to share such confidences with the man, but she ignored the reservations at the back of her mind for once. "I'm trying to move forward as best I can, and I think my heart is finally starting to catch up with my mind."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Éponine could feel her face burning all of a sudden. "Was I really so obvious?"

Enjolras's fetching smirk softened her humiliation. "I'm afraid you were. Well, to all but Marius himself. He's a good man, but he's not the most observant of fellows."

"No, I daresay he isn't, but he _is_ good."

"Precisely."

As they began to move forward, turning a corner and entering another abandoned hallway, Éponine returned the question. "And you?" she pressed, mindful of putting the question as delicately as possible. "Are you more at ease; or, should I say, are you feeling more like yourself again?"

Enjolras's serious gaze drew away from her towards a large window that overlooked the garden, which was now bare, brown, and withering away. He swallowed, his eyes attentive as he stared ahead without much emotion outlining his face.

"Not yet," he returned in a pained sort of whisper, as Éponine quietly looked on, "but perhaps I'll get there...some day."

Enjolras gave her a forced smile that echoed of sadness and rattled Éponine to receive. She would have preferred his brutal honesty from a moment ago to the false bluff she found now. There was no mistaking the fragility that lay beyond the surface of his perfectly carved face, however; or those sky blue eyes that could turn hot and cold at a moment's notice. He started to push forward in a fictitious fashion that tugged at Éponine's nerves. She stayed back, watching him struggle to walk for a moment, before calling out to him.

"Enjolras?"

When he slowly turned around, Éponine inhaled deeply and stepped closer, until she was practically pressed up against him, with her neck craned to stare into his eyes, finding the false sense of security nearly unbearable to look at. Unable to smile, she regarded him seriously.

"I know you're going through quite an ordeal. You nearly lost everything that day. You don't..." Swallowing her nerves, Éponine willed herself to keep going. "You don't have to suffer on your own, you know. I hope you know you have people you can talk to about it, if you'd like?"

Enjolras considered her words for a moment before his eyes fell to the floor. "Thank you," he replied tacitly, "but, as I've relayed to you before, there's no one who can help me." He slumped slightly and started to walk again, when Éponine too stepped forward, keeping pace with him.

"I beg to differ."

"With all due respect, Éponine," he emphasized with his free hand raised to stop her, "I know what you're trying to do, and if Marius put you up to this, I will speak to him personally—"

"Marius? He has nothing to do with this."

"Oh." Enjolras's brow knitted, both confused and unsure. "Then why?"

To this, Éponine smiled; her demeanor was calm and inviting to the gentleman staring at her, trying to make sense of her interest.

"Does one need a reason to help someone else?"

"Not necessarily, no."

Éponine brought her hands together in front of her. "I know you think that you're beyond help, Enjolras, but you aren't." Provoked by his pensive-looking expression, Éponine's smile widened. "If there's anyone who understands what it's like to feel perilous, it's me."

"I'm sure you're right."

"Have you considered what you'll do?" She reconvened their mindless stroll, trying not to focus on Enjolras's physical limitations as they ambled slowly onward.

"Do?" he repeated, his eyebrows angled.

"Yes... In the future, once you've recovered?"

After a pause, Enjolras's eyes hardened, not meeting hers. "I don't think about the future too much."

"Why not?"

"Because I find that thought process dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Éponine eyed him curiously. "Why dangerous?"

"Because false hope is _never_ a healthy mindset to live by."

Éponine allowed the silence to fill between them for a time before letting out a weighty sigh. "That sounds more like defeatist talk than anything else."

"You shouldn't presume," Enjolras retorted, his attitude now freshly snippy. It caused Éponine's eyes to narrow in his direction.

"How do you expect to recover with _that_ sort of mentality?"

"Why do you push to speak about things you don't understand?"

Éponine jolted and stopped, facing him head on. Enjolras did likewise and there was unmistakable irritation on his flushed face; he was rather breathless too from the exercise they had made trekking across the house.

"I understand a great deal about your suffering, Enjolras," Éponine attempted to explain calmly, though it only seemed to ruffle him further. "More than you give me credit for."

"What do you know apart from your _own_ suffering?" he challenged. "You know nothing of what I went through, nor what I go through now."

"You're right, I don't; not entirely."

"'Not entirely'?" he huffed, leaning on his cane to steady himself. "Did you lead men to their deaths? Did you watch your friends die before your eyes—"

"No, I didn't—"

"And do you have their blood on your hands? All of those men? Are you responsible? _Are you?_"

"No, of course not," Éponine found herself taken aback, the realization of Enjolras's heartache clawing its way to the surface. "But neither are you!"

Enjolras stomped his cane and his entire face altered into a mixture of outrage, disgust, and pain. "_Don't say such things to me!_" he all but shouted at her, breathing strenuously. "You may think yourself wise, Éponine, but you lack fortitude in saying what _is_ versus what you'd like to hear!

"I _am_ responsible! I led those men—my brothers, my friends, including _your_ brother—to their deaths! They lost their lives because of _me_, and I must contend with their loss the rest of my days! If I hadn't been so reckless, so careless, they'd still be alive! Yes, Gavroche too! You cannot undo what I've done, nor make it better for me by discussing it!"

Enjolras whirled his head around and headed off in the opposite direction, but he didn't get far before having to stop and grip the wall to keep from falling. Éponine cautiously made her way to his side, watching him hang his head. Gently, she extended a hand out to take him by the arm.

"I'm sorry, Enjolras," she whispered, hardly knowing how to address his suffering. "It wasn't my aim to upset you like this. Come, let's return to the parlor."

"No," he firmly shook his head, still breathless. "Not yet."

"Would you prefer to return to your room?"

"No," Enjolras insisted, and fully turned himself to look at her, letting go of the wall once he was sure his balance had returned.

His pain-filled eyes bore into hers, filled to the brink with a silent torment he could no longer hide. Éponine was lost for words and could only stare back, her eyebrows angled with concern. She held onto his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze as a sign of her understanding; a small gesture he appeared to wordlessly appreciate.

"I'm sorry for lashing out at you," he managed after a considerable pause. "I don't mean to."

"You needn't apologize; it's fine."

"Even so..."

Enjolras locked eyes on Éponine again, only in a peculiar manner that felt remarkably different from before. It was almost yearning, unless Éponine was gravely mistaken. She found herself trembling, despite herself, and leaned closer. Enjolras did likewise, to the point that they could hear one another's rapid breathing.

Éponine was busy trying to formulate words when Molly unexpectedly came shuffling from around the corner. Looking disgruntled and scowling as usual, she made quick survey of the pair of them. Quickly, Éponine stepped away, not really even sure why she felt compelled to do so, and Enjolras straightened his shoulders.

"Monsieur?" Molly hurried over, shooting down Éponine first. "Might I help you back to the parlor?"

"That would be kind of you, Molly, thank you," Enjolras muttered, sauntering away looking freshly cross. Éponine trailed off after them in silence.

It took quite a while to get Enjolras back to the parlor, and watching him struggle was disconcerting for Éponine, who found herself wanting to intervene. Molly was too elderly to support him but shot her a dirty look every time she reached out a hand to help. Éponine angrily glared back, but there was little to be accomplished by speaking out of turn, so she followed them along quietly.

After situating Enjolras comfortably in a wingback chair, Molly exited the room, where Éponine was standing by, awaiting her leave. Thus, she was shocked when the grumpy, old maid shambled forward and drove Éponine back against the wall.

"Monsieur Gillenormand wouldn't like what you're doing, Missy!" she hissed, pointing a plump finger in her face. "Nor would the Pontmercies! Gettin' their ill guest all excited and worked up!"

"I've done nothing to—"

"And touchin' him at that!"

Éponine's eyes enlarged. "_What?_ I haven't—"

"I saw you! Makin' a pass at poor Monsieur, after the Pontmercies took you in, out of the goodness of their hearts! You ungrateful hussy!"

"Now wait just a minute—"

"I been workin' here a long time, and I've seen the likes of _your_ lot before! You think you can pull the curtain over my eyes, but I see who you are! You're no better than a common prostit—"

"_How dare you!_"

Éponine charged forward, and Molly stumbled backward but managed to right herself. She carried on with her rant, however, her upper lip curled in abhorrence.

"I know what you're doin', and I ain't goin' to sit by and let you upset Monsieur Gillenormand's guest, nor trick him with your sinful ways!"

"_You're out of line!_" Éponine fired back, feeling the suppressed anger within her rising. She balled her hands into fists, willing herself to not speak so loudly that Enjolras might overhear.

"You better watch your back if you know what's good for you!"

With that, Molly stuck up her large nose at Éponine and hurried away, not glancing back once. She disappeared at the end of the hallway, leaving a stunned Éponine at a loss where she stood, shaken by the hateful encounter she had just had. It was only once Enjolras called to her to return to her studies that Éponine drew out of her shock and offense, though her heart continued to beat excitedly.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: __****Les Misérables** didn't win the Best Picture Oscar?! _Whattt?!_

**-ahem- **

**Anyway, a little more information in this chapter. This may be a "slow burn" story, but things are about to start heating up. ;) _Thank you again so, so much for all your feedback and enthusiasm!_ I really can't thank you guys enough, because it's been feeding my deprived Muse like no one's business!  
**

**Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 9**

_**"But the tigers come at night with their voices soft as thunder."**_  
_**-Les Misérables**_

* * *

_Enjolras startled. A scorching pain in his chest just below his collar bone on the left side and another on the right side of his torso shook him out of his black out, only a gravitational force was making all the blood rush to his head. He was discombobulated and confused, until he quickly realized he was dangling upside down, hanging hopelessly out of a large, second-story window, with his leather boot wedged in between one of the bars of the railing—the sole thing keeping him from falling on his head._

_'Dear God...'_

_Enjolras heard men shuffling about inside the café. Another wave of dizziness hit him and everything from moments before came flooding back to him. He had been shot only seconds ago. He was supposed to be dead. Yet, here he was, dangling upside down by his boot, with excruciating pains running through every part of his upper body._

_'But...'_

_Enjolras quickly made to stretch his neck to check how far up he was when his foot suddenly slipped between the bars and he found himself falling, weightless, spiraling towards the ground in a matter of seconds. There was little time to react. His body abruptly crashed. He expected to land on cold, hard cobblestone and break his neck and everything would be over. Instead, something less solid, though still hard enough to have an impact, broke his dangerous fall._

_Enjolras's eyes shot open at the overwhelming stench of blood, and he willed himself to ignore his injuries as he quickly determined what had prevented him from hitting the hard ground: a__ dead body._

_Enjolras winced and rolled off of whomever it was and onto his side, in desperate need of air. He could feel his body weakening by the second and sensed he was losing blood. If he had a prayer of getting out of here alive, he would have to act fast._

_Enjolras was about to start making his way across the cobblestone street when the echo of footsteps exiting the café reached his ears, and he went as still as he could, his back turned away from the soldiers who had shot him moments before._

_"Hey, looks like the traitor lost his footing after all," one of them snickered._

_Enjolras sensed them coming towards him and his pounding heart beat harder at their approaching footsteps. He tried not to breathe. Ironic, his mind fleetingly mused, considering he needed oxygen now more than ever._

_"They never even stood a chance. Look where all their efforts got them," another cackled loudly. "This one here was the ringleader, and now look at him. All of his comrades, dead. How's that for eternal sin?"_

_"He'll be rotting in Hell with the rest of them."_

_One of them spit on the ground near Enjolras's head. "Vive la France, my arse!" the soldier snarled through his teeth; several others piped in with a resounding uproar of laughter._

_It was a mockery of him and his brothers' revolution, of everything they had fought so hard and died for, and Enjolras's face paled where he lay, helpless and exposed to all of his enemies. Suddenly, another soldier's boots closed in on them, and the laughter was cut off by the superior presence of whomever it was._

_"Show some respect for the dead!" the man—he must be the commander, Enjolras concluded—demanded of his men. "Get that area cleaned up first. And treat them with some humility, for God's sake!"_

_Some general shuffling and muttering under their breaths sent the soldiers away, until all was quiet and still. Too paralyzed to move yet, Enjolras waited several minutes, enduring the terrible pains in his body as best he could, before slowly chancing to move his head. The area surrounding the café was deserted, until he realized that the soldiers were merely on the opposite end of the broken barricade, seeing to and collecting their dead first._

_'Trapped.' Enjolras panicked. 'Why should you run? Shouldn't you die with them?' Enjolras breathed heavily and lay his head down flat upon the cold surface. 'It'll all be over soon... You'll slip away... It's almost over...'_

_"Pssst! Hey!" someone hissed at him from somewhere beyond his peripheral vision._

_Enjolras went stiff as a board, though his fearful eyes tried to discretely scan his surroundings, his heart thrumming so fast he thought it would surely burst. He spotted an elderly plump woman, dressed in tattered clothing and grimy from head to toe, as well as another much younger girl who had to be her daughter. She was dressed similarly, and the two of them were crouched at a half-opened doorway, beckoning to him with frantic waves of their hands._

_Without much thought, and hearing the voices coming from the opposite side of the barricade, Enjolras made a hasty decision. He began crawling his way across the dirty, blood-soaked street, fighting the indescribable pains that shot through his body at every turn. Heaving several audible gasps that nearly sent him crumbling onto his side, Enjolras made to escape what he had lost. He spotted a few of his brothers amongst the dead he was forced to climb over and tried desperately to block out their faces, those bloodied, lifeless corpses that would still be alive 'if you hadn't started this whole mess!'_

_'What the fuck are you doing?' his conscience berated him as he crawled his way to safety. 'You spineless betrayer!'_

_Evidently, the women, whom Enjolras assumed had to be living in one of the flats above, were too cowardly to risk exposing themselves as sympathizers by aiding the revolutionary leader away from harm. So, they cowered in their hiding spot, encouraging the wounded freedom fighter to come to them, and as quickly as possible._

_"Hurry, Monsieur!" the mother urged, her eyes darting frantically from the soldiers to where Enjolras was, not far away now._

_"I can't... I can't..."_

_Enjolras finally caved into the pain that had been fighting him all the way and collapsed onto his stomach, wheezing and gasping for air. He shut his eyes, but the next thing he vaguely knew was being hurriedly rolled onto his back and dragged into an apartment, the two women huffing and sputtering excitedly under their breaths that they must be "out of their minds" to be helping this strange man on the verge of death._

_"Bring him upstairs! Hurry!"_

_"I'm trying, Mama! The man's dead weight!"_

_"Poor fellow. I hope he's still alive..."_

_"Mum, he - he's been shot."_

_"Who wasn't?"_

_"But..."_

_"Ignore the blood, just help me get him onto the bed!"_

_After stomping and heaving several times, Enjolras found himself plopped down onto a firm mattress and convulsed at the pains that shot up his spine at impact. He would welcome death now with open arms. Why was his body fighting it? He_ should_ be dead._

_'God, let this end!' he wanted to scream but was too weak to open his mouth. He could feel himself drifting in and out of consciousness as the women covered him with blankets and opened his shirt to inspect his wounds._

_"We'll have to move him, Mattie!" the mother insisted after dabbing cold water on his bullet wounds and attempting to cleanse the areas, as well as stop his bleeding; Enjolras reacted and arched his back. He thought he would cry out but could do nothing but wince and thrash about to illustrate his discomfort. "He can't stay with us! It's too dangerous!"_

_"But - But how will we manage to get him somewhere safe?"_

_"We'll have to wait till they go."_

_"What, are you mad, Mama? He won't last a day if we don't fetch a doctor now!"_

_"We'll take him to Tempeste."_

_"You cannot be serious! That scandalous lass? He won't last but a few hours in her care!"_

_"Scandalous she may be, but she cured your brother's gout, didn't she? You saw the proof of it yourself!"_

_"Be that as it may, Mama—"_

_"Or you could fetch her here?"_

_"She wouldn't dream of it, Mama! You know that."_

_"Then we must take him ourselves!" There was a short pause. "Unless you'd prefer to have the man die in your bed?"_

_"No! I wouldn't!"_

_"Then we have no choice, Mattie!"_

_"But... Just by association, we could..."_

_"We stood by and did nothing, watching those boys die needlessly today!" the mother exclaimed, and both she and the young girl's wretched, mournful sobs could be heard, suddenly clawing their way to the surface. "The least we can do now is help this one!"_

_"I... I think he was the one in charge, Mama."_

_"Yes... I think you're right." A few dampened curls were brushed out of Enjolras's eyes, though he no longer stirred. "Now, fetch me some rags and another bucket of water. The cloth will have to do for bandages. He's lost a great deal of blood already. Hurry!"_

_There was some more general scurrying and commotion happening all around him, but Enjolras couldn't hear or make sense of it anymore. He could feel himself slipping away, and it wasn't long afterwards that he blacked out again._

"Enjolras?"

Enjolras blinked rapidly. His brow was furrowed in confusion. Slowly, it dawned on him where he was and had been since after breakfast: in the grand parlor at Monsieur Grillenormand's house, with his pupil, Éponine, seated at his side. She had been attempting to read a few sentences to him aloud, as instructed, when his faraway gaze caught her attention and she stopped. It had become a familiar distant look of late; in fact, ever since her studies began weeks before, Éponine had paid witness to it on a near everyday basis. Though she tried to be respectful and not draw attention to whatever was distracting him, it was difficult not to address the matter when her instructor wasn't providing her with feedback and, instead, staring off into the distance, lost in another time and place.

_Memories_, she concluded easily enough, _from the barricade, no doubt..._

"Are you all right?" she pressed to him as gently as she could.

Enjolras straightened his vest and tried to play it off, as had become his coverup. "Yes, I'm fine," he insisted, though, to the contrary, he appeared quite shaken. "Please, go on."

"I'm afraid I can't make out this word."

Éponine glided the book towards Enjolras, pointing to the questionable text with her index finger; but when he inched forward in his chair to inspect her problem, he winced in pain and his upper body quivered. The action unnerved Éponine enough that she tossed the book aside.

"Shall we take a break?" she suggested by way of distraction, knowing she wouldn't get on good terms with him by drawing attention to his inflictions. Giving Enjolras a small smile, she awaited his response, and he firmly shook his head.

"No, that's unnecessary."

"With all due respect, Enjolras, you..." Éponine sighed and quickly surmised to be at least partially honest. "You don't look well. You're quite pale, in fact."

"Thank you for your observation," he chastised her with a freshly cold stare, "but I'm fine." He then grasped the top of his cane, contemplating before thinking better of his behavior; his countenance softened. "But, perhaps, a short break is warranted."

"Shall I make us some tea?"

Enjolras stared at her anew, his blue eyes surveying her curiously. "Make tea?"

"That's right. Seeing as the maid is out on an errand with Madame Pontmercy, I think I can manage. I _do_ know my way around a kitchen." She shot him a rather sheepish smile. "Well, sort of..."

Not really knowing what to say, Enjolras chortled and leaned back in his chair with a resigned sigh. "Very well, Mademoiselle."

Éponine couldn't stop from rolling her eyes. "I do wish you'd call me Éponine. At least, during our lessons."

"As would I, but you need to get used to the address. If you don't, you'll never believe it."

"I fear you're right..."

"I usually am."

Éponine caught the slight curl at the edge of Enjolras's lips and smiled as well. Wasting little time, she rose from her chair and excused herself to the kitchen, where she was surprised to discover that she really _could_ manage her way around relatively well.

Humming mindlessly as she put the kettle on, Éponine allowed her mind to wander to the curly-haired gentleman waiting for her back in the parlor. It wasn't the first time that her thoughts had thoughtfully considered him in recent weeks, but then, she was also less and less focused on a certain married Marius Pontmercy these days, and was becoming increasingly aware of that significant change in her heart.

In the weeks spent with Enjolras as her tutor, he had met her approval as a more than adequate instructor. She was making considerable strides—he had already called her a "remarkably fast learner," which Éponine took pride in hearing—and she found herself routinely looking forward to her morning studies, even with the minor bump in the road, such as now.

Both tutor and pupil were falling into a comfortable rhythm with one another, though it left little wiggle room for polite conversation outside of Éponine's lessons, even when she and Enjolras took breaks. Enjolras's take-charge approach was straightforward and serious. He was precise and thorough and requested that Éponine repeat words and phrases from her textbook back to him multiple times; or until she had perfected them to _his_ standards, which Éponine learned early on were quite high. She didn't mind, however. Instead, she rose to the challenges he presented her with, enjoying the opportunities to prove herself, even if she wasn't sure _what_ she was trying to prove exactly, nor to _whom_ her efforts were directed.

_Yourself, of course!_ she would try to convince herself, though her heart wasn't at all persuaded.

To his credit, Enjolras was an encouraging teacher. It may not have been in his nature to shower her with praise when she did well, but he still coaxed her forward all the same. He demanded the same, if not _more_, from her with each and every lesson, and Éponine did her best to meet his expectations, sensing she was surprising even him with her progress. His approach was neither gentle or cool, and Éponine ended up being normally drained by the time lunch arrived, but she discovered that she preferred _not_ being treated like a delicate flower. Enjolras didn't teach her as though she were a fragile creature, and Éponine found that she much preferred the freedom fighter's tough love approach over any ridiculous propriety that was so often bestowed upon the female sex—at least, in the upper classes.

_Yes_,_ Enjolras_ was _an adequate tutor. More than adequate._

His infrequent loss of attention, however, was becoming too diverting to ignore, though Éponine didn't, as of yet, have the forwardness to address the problem. A handful of times, she found Enjolras shifting away from her lessons—those fiercely guarded eyes glazing over, his mind reverting back to the horrible trauma from that fateful day in June.

This wasn't the first time Éponine suggested that they break for tea on account of him getting distracted, and, she suspected, it wouldn't be the last. Éponine hadn't chanced bringing forth the topic of the barricade again, though the idea was never far from her mind. Enjolras, on the other hand, showed no interest in a rehash of their sensitive talk from weeks before, and Éponine couldn't help but wonder how the man hadn't so much as confided in Marius yet, despite their being as thick as brothers.

_How lonely he must be..._

Éponine frowned at such a dismal thought, forgetting the tea altogether. It was true. After her morning studies with Enjolras, she and Cosette spent the afternoons together learning the ways of becoming a lady, leaving Éponine to wonder what Enjolras did to occupy the remainder of his day. With the exception of dinner, Éponine knew not what he did, and the notion of being left all alone to himself day in and day out saddened her a great deal.

The sound of the steaming tea kettle rattled Éponine back to her senses. She scurried to get everything prepared and returned to the parlor carrying a tray of the hot tea with two cups and saucers, managing—proudly—not to trip over her feet as she did so.

Enjolras was preoccupied with staring out the window at the fallen leaves that scattered the grounds. Éponine quietly placed the tray on the table and poured him a cup. When she presented him with his tea, however, Enjolras didn't flinch or make to look her way. His weary eyes continued to gaze into the soft illumination of the overcast morn, as though he weren't aware of her presence at all.

_Not again..._

"Enjolras?" Éponine whispered and waited. There was no response, so she gently prodded his shoulder. "Enjolras?"

Enjolras jolted back to his senses. It was then that Éponine realized his face had gone as white as a sheet, and she quickly sat down beside him and scooted her chair closer.

"Enjolras, are you sure you're all right?"

"What?" His eyes darted about the room, his face contorted in either confusion or worry. "I... Yes. Yes, I'm fine."

Éponine cautiously drew back, unsure if she should press him with her next question, "Would you like to go back to your room and lay down for a while?" to which he shook his head, determination lining his features.

"No, of course not, why would I?"

"You're looking a little pale."

His high cheekbones suddenly resumed their natural glow. "I feel fine," he insisted, quietly turning away from her.

Not really knowing what else to say, Éponine intertwined her fingers together in her lap. The man wasn't budging, and she didn't have the stamina to push him after how cross and upset he had gotten before.

"As you wish."

"Are you mocking me?"

Éponine's mouth fell open in shock. "No, of course not!" When he only glowered at her through beady eyes, she inquired, with more urgency, "Is it improper for me to ask after your health, Enjolras? _Really._"

"You could keep such curiosity to yourself."

"I didn't realize such a base question was off limits."

"It isn't," he mumbled, shifting in his chair. "Only unwarranted."

"Well, I certainly know that now."

"_Bon._" *****

"Are you _really_ that angry with me?"

Éponine couldn't help feeling affronted by his put-off attitude; it reminded her of the previous time she had attempted to broach the topic, and, judging by Enjolras's facial expressions, it would appear the same recollection was running through his mind. His jaw was clenched as he peered out the window, though his weary eyes soon fell upon hers again. This time, their attention was significantly softer than before.

"No, I'm not. I apologize, Éponine. That was rude of me."

_Seems to be a pattern..._

Éponine laced her arms across her chest and slouched a bit, forgetting to play the part of a lady for the moment. Enjolras didn't seem to have noticed; or, if he did, he didn't correct her posture.

"I know what you're thinking about when you do that..."

Enjolras immediately straightened. "Do what?" he challenged through narrowed eyes.

"When you lose your focus."

"I'm merely distracted by matters that aren't your concern."

"Is that all?"

Éponine frowned slightly whilst Enjolras searched her attractive face, his own both guarded and critical. It was a long while before he addressed her again, so much so that Éponine grew uncomfortable with the heaviness that settled upon the atmosphere by then.

"You would do well to not ask me such questions."

Éponine could feel her heart pounding a little harder in her chest. She ignored whatever strange sensation passed through her body and inched closer, despite the warning that was clearly tied to his stoic reply.

"I mean no harm, Enjolras—"

"I know you don't. _But don't._"

"I just want to help you."

"Well, I don't need your help." He took a deep breath and glanced towards a clock on a mantelpiece nearby. "I need you to finish your tea so that we can resume your lesson."

The finality of those words put an invisible barrier between them that Éponine knew she wouldn't shake. With a disappointed frown, she quietly took her tea in hand and sipped its soothing contents, though there was nothing about their brief exchange that could thaw the chill that had settled in her bones.

Enjolras barely touched his tea, continuing to stare out the window for a time in silence. The tightness of his pursed lips, however, told Éponine that he wasn't distracted like before. He was simply choosing to ignore her.

Once she was through, Éponine took the book back in her hands and resumed where she had left off, whilst Enjolras surveyed her with a dismayed scowl.

* * *

"Can I _finally_ say it?"

Enjolras paused his gentle prying into Monsieur Gillenormand's extensive book collection. He, Marius, and his grandfather hadn't stepped out of the library since breakfast. With the weekend in full swing, Cosette had taken Éponine for her first outing in Paris since her arrival for dress fittings.

Enjolras had smirked at Éponine throughout breakfast as Cosette prattled on and on about various fabrics and the latest fashion trends. All the while, Cosette's blue eyes lit up with excitement. Éponine, meanwhile, smiled meekly but otherwise picked at her food and offered very little by way of enthusiasm.

Having remembered Éponine relaying to him before her thoughts on how her better circumstances wouldn't change the way others viewed her, Enjolras studied her guarded expressions throughout their meal, and realized that Éponine had gotten better at masking her emotions.

_Perhaps she took my suggestions to heart..._

Before the ladies took their leave for the morning, Enjolras and Éponine exchanged understanding smiles, and that small token of appreciation Enjolras encountered before she exited left him undeniably curious, and, if he dared admit it, a tad anxious for her return. Whatever this gravitational pull was, it was becoming harder to control, and ever more so by her continued studies and the occasional wandering eye.

_Get a hold of yourself, Enjolras_, he silently scolded himself once she was gone. _She's your student, and a friend of Marius's. That's all._

"Enjolras?"

Enjolras drew his head up from the law book he was examining. Marius was standing by and scanning him worriedly.

"Say what?" he encouraged, as though there had been no lapse in the conversation.

"You're starting to look and sound more like yourself again."

Arching an eyebrow, Enjolras held up his cane as a demonstration against Marius's observation, but it only earned him chuckling at his expense from both his friend _and_ Monsieur Gillenormand, who was sitting comfortably on a large sofa with a cane of his own propped against his knees.

"You won't need that soon enough," Monsieur Gillenormand assured him with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Wait and see."

"_That_ we shall," Enjolras concurred, resting the cane against a large writing desk. He leaned into the structure and carried on with his reading, allowing for Marius to prattle on as usual, filling the silence with conversation.

"We need to start discussing your return."

That immediately got Enjolras's attention. He glanced up from the book again, his brow furrowed.

"My return?"

"Yes! Perhaps to university, or to politics, or to...what's going on out _there_."

"Don't even start on that, Marius," Monsieur Gillenormand all but growled.

Marius made a passing smirk in Enjolras's direction, but his handsome friend was too caught off his guard to react with humor. He blinked and regarded Marius seriously.

"Have you given it much thought then?" Enjolras provoked, to which Marius nodded back.

"Of course I have! And not just me! Shall I tell him, Grandfather?"

Monsieur Gillenormand encouraged his grandson with a slight bow, which all but made Enjolras's throat drop into the pit of his stomach. He couldn't help but feel as though he were being setup against his will. Whatever offer was coming his way, he wasn't prepared to answer. Not by a long shot.

Marius stepped forward and took Enjolras warmly by the shoulder. "We'd like to offer you a position in Grandfather's law firm, once you're feeling well enough, of course. It would be a good way for you to get back on your feet."

"Marius," Enjolras lowered his voice, feeling, for a moment, like an utter fool, "I haven't finished my studies yet, and after what happened..."

"We've thought about that too," Monsieur Gillenormand inserted with a twinkle in his eyes. "Considering your former," he cleared his throat disapprovingly, "political position in the public eye, Marius and I fear the possibility of discovery should you decide to return to university; it could be life threatening. You certainly have enough schooling under your belt, however, for me to take you on as an apprentice, as I've already done with Marius."

"An apprentice?"

Enjolras couldn't contain his surprise. As grateful as he was to the old man for taking him in, he would _never_ have expected such an outpouring of generosity, even if he and Monsieur Gillenormand were getting on so well.

"Yes and why not?" Marius grinned broadly, as though the idea were entirely his own. "It's what you've been studying for so long."

Enjolras narrowed his eyes skeptically. "I had hoped to possibly return to university and finish..."

"Yes, well, with everything that's happened, that may not be possible, Enjolras," Monsieur Gillenormand shrugged, but they all knew he wasn't all that disappointed at the idea. "Here, you'd have the opportunity to practice Law, and learn the ropes from me."

"With all due respect, Monsieur, Inspector Javert is dead. The authorities wouldn't know what I look like or who I am."

"I don't think it's a risk you should take," Monsieur Gillenormand insisted with a firm shake of his head. "I told Marius the same, but, well, he doesn't listen to me. He also wasn't as much of a face in this revolution as you were. Please tell me _you_ will at least illustrate some common sense?"

Enjolras considered the unexpected, and enticing, proposition before him, his face marred in concentration. Marius was eying him supportively, as was Monsieur Gillenmorand, but it did little to sway him in either direction. Enjolras wasn't surprised to be told that the prospect of returning to university was slim. He wasn't even sure if he possessed the passion, nor the desire, to return to his old life anyhow, though he had been uncertain where that ultimately left him. Thinking of the future had proven too exhausting since his brush with death, too daunting and too much to bear. Now, it had literally been thrust onto him without warning, and Enjolras found himself ill-prepared to answer.

"Actually," he drawled, swallowing hard, "I hadn't given much thought to returning to Law. In fact..."

Marius's eyebrows rose high on his head, waiting, and Monsieur Gillenormand's expression had gone from one of anticipation to suspicion. He rose from the sofa and cautiously approached both men, keeping his eyes on a conflicted Enjolras all the while.

"Lately," Enjolras continued, "I've given consideration to becoming a full-time tutor."

"_A tutor?_"

It was Monsieur Gillenormand who blurted out the term, stunned and with his mouth hanging open. Marius too appeared struck down by the proposition.

Enjolras straightened his shoulders, and a muscle in his jaw twitched defiantly. "Yes, it's taken too much time for me to realize how poorly educated the _miserables_ are. They have none of the opportunities we do, Monsieur; no one has been willing to step in and give them the proper education we should all be entitled to—"

"Now wait just a moment," Monsieur Gillenormand put up a hand to halt his validation, but Enjolras cut him off.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur, but I cannot, in good conscience, accept your offer. It would be wrong of me, when my mind has changed."

Marius stepped closer, his expression urgent. "At least think on it, would you?" he pleaded in a hushed tone.

"I've had considerable time to think on it, Marius. My decision likely won't change. I appreciate the offer, Monsieur Gillenormand; I really do. You're very generous to think of me, but to take it would be wrong. I'm sorry."

"But... I don't... _A tutor?_" The elderly man's bushy mustache twitched, his grey eyes as wide as saucers.

"Yes," Enjolras laughed softly, "is that so hard to believe? I've been tutoring Mademoiselle for some time, and I think she's done remarkably well."

"Well, yes, that's all well and good, but... _A tutor?_ You'll make little money going that route! What about your education? What about your status?"

_Ahhh, of course, my 'status'!_ Enjorlas did his best not to snort disrespectfully and locked eyes with Marius, who seemed to silently understand and be conveying the same thoughts that were running through Enjolras's mind: _Didn't we severe those ties when we began standing up for democracy?_

"I understand your concerns, Monsieur, but I simply cannot..."

"Grandfather," Marius piped in, taking Monsieur Gillenormand by the arm, "I do think Enjolras has given this a lot of thought, and, truth be told, he's looked more invigorated the past few weeks with the work he's doing with Éponine than I've seen him in quite some time. Ultimately, it is_ his_ decision. Perhaps we should support Enjolras and let him give it a try? If it turns out it isn't to his liking, then perhaps we could revisit our offer in the future?"

Monsieur Gillenormand sized up before Enjolras, a mixture of growing anger and disappointment sweeping across the deeply etched lines on his face. "Very well," he huffed, "if he thinks he knows what's best for him!"

Before Enjolras could plead his case further, Monsieur Gillenormand turned on his heel and stomped out of the room, muttering under his breath as he went. The two gentlemen stood on, watching him go with guilt and uncertainty laden in their faces. Once he was out of sight, however, Marius turned to Enjolras with a look of sympathy.

"I'm sorry... It's tough for Grandfather to understand our positions. We're living in a world he doesn't recognize anymore, and he finds that difficult."

"I understand, and his and your offer _was_ appreciated, Marius. Please convey that to him for me again, won't you?"

"Of course I will." He latched his hands behind his back and gazed at Enjolras up and down. "So, is this what you _really_ want?"

"I'm almost certain."

"I daresay it probably suits you better; I'm surprised, though, all the same."

Enjolras smirked and turned to the next page of his book. "You shouldn't be. I thought you knew my mind rather well."

"Well, seeing how your sessions with Éponine have been going so well, you're right, I shouldn't be too surprised."

Enjolras blinked at _that _comment. It may have been an innocent one, with no hidden innuendos behind it, but Enjolras couldn't prevent his posture from going rigid. He also didn't know how to reply, and was grateful that Marius didn't catch the slightest hesitation in his features. He turned away to take his grandfather's spot on the sofa.

"She's progressing nicely," Enjolras eventually forced the words out, judging Marius's casual reaction for any hidden meanings.

"Yes, she has. She speaks very highly of your instruction, you know. That should help soften the blow for Grandfather, I think."

"I hope so."

It wasn't Monsieur Gillenormand's ill feelings, however, that had Enjolras's mind reeling like a spinning wheel. He found himself struck by the notion that Éponine had spoken so highly of him, and to Marius of all people. He wanted to be frustrated with himself for even entertaining the thought of a young woman paying him a compliment, but he couldn't stop the weak smile that formed at the edges of his lips, even as Marius continued to browbeat him with how to put Monsieur Gillenormand in a better mood for dinner.

* * *

*** Translation:** "_Good._"

**A/N #2: Okay, okay. Scold me for the lack of E/É interaction in this chapter, if you must, but just know that I intend to make it up to you next time... ;)  
**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: It ma****de me smile to know how some of you wanted to see a certain scenario involving a reverse of nightmares in this story, as it's something I already had written. It may not be the way some of you've envisioned it, however, but I still hope this chapter meets what many have been waiting for... **

**Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

_**"Do I follow where she goes?"**_  
_**-Les Misérables**_

* * *

"Your studies seem to be progressing nicely?"

"They are, yes."

"I'm so glad to hear it!"

"Your instructions have been just as helpful, Cosette, _truly._"

Cosette smiled at Éponine's compliment and the two sat in silence for a time, watching the colorful streets of Paris fly by in the horse-drawn carriage they occupied. It was one of many outings Éponine had made in recent weeks for dress fittings. Cosette, Marius, and Monsieur Gillenormand himself were preparing to introduce her to society in the coming months, and, as Cosette put it, "you must wear only the finest!"

Éponine didn't mind wearing Cosette's hand-me-downs, however. In fact, she preferred the material. It was more comfortable, the worn corset less confined, but she could only refuse so many times before her remarks were ignored outright. Even Enjolras had eventually told her to simply go along with Cosette and indulge her.

"The Pontmercies are doing you a kind service, Éponine," he reminded her on more than one occasion. "Let them show you off."

A piercing December gust had settled in the air and Éponine couldn't be more grateful to be sitting inside their warm carriage, with a roof and closed doors to protect them from the relentless chill. Seeing the poor shuffling the streets for shelter, money, and food made her shiver for a different reason, however. Éponine remembered well her circumstances this time last year, when she had spent dusk until dawn scrounging for whatever she could find, and nearly froze to death in the process from the pathetic excuse for clothing she wore, including possessing no shoes to protect her toes from frost bite. It had been a miracle that she didn't end up with such a condition.

"How are you getting on with Enjolras?"

That brought Éponine out of her somber reflections. "Well enough, I'd wager."

Cosette's pretty smile grew faint. "Does he..." She stopped herself and waved her hand to put an end to her thought. "Forgive me, I'm speaking out of turn."

"Go on," Éponine urged her, uncertain of what was coming.

Cosette reluctantly continued, "Does ever speak to you about...you know..."

"About the barricade?" Cosette nodded, her pale face poised. Éponine sadly shook her head. "No, he doesn't; not much. I've tried to bring it up in conversation a number of times, but he doesn't want to speak on it."

"I thought as much. I only asked because Marius is concerned."

"Oh?"

"Yes... Enjolras won't so much as open up about his survival. He's afraid if Enjolras remains shut down too long that it will affect his recovery."

Éponine illustrated her understanding of the matter and peered out the window, at nothing in particular. A group of children who couldn't be older than seven or eight were racing down the street, undoubtedly in search of shelter.

"I made the mistake of telling him that not too long ago," Éponine confessed as they flew past.

"And what was his response?"

Éponine turned away from the window with a frown. "He got angry and stormed off."

"Oh... Well, that's unfortunate."

"It is, but, to a certain extent, I understand his pain. It has to be exceedingly hard on him."

"Yes... Well, as long as his tutoring gives him something to do, then I'm content not to push the poor man, and neither is Marius."

"I think he enjoys it immensely." Éponine hastily added, feeling anxious for whatever reason, "I mean, not with _me_, per say, just the act of having purpose again. He's become quite passionate about it; much like the old Enjolras I remember speaking at rallies, talking of revolution."

Cosette's attractive simper returned, though wider than before. "I know what you meant," she assured Éponine softly, turning her own attention to the spectacle of people walking the streets. There was something in that smile, however, that knotted Éponine's stomach, as though the woman could see through her carefully masked interest. "Besides, he told Marius recently that he wishes to become a tutor."

_That_ brought a shocked reaction out of Éponine. "Really?" she gaped. "As a career?"

"Yes," Cosette looked pleased, and Éponine's reaction followed suit.

"Well, I think that would suit him very well."

"I think you're right!"

* * *

Enjolras tossed and turned for the good part of an hour before surmising to sit up in bed. There would be no getting to sleep with the day he had had. So much time spent alone with his thoughts could be both a blessing and a curse, too often leaving him with no peace of mind.

It was well past midnight, and his bedroom was now submerged in darkness. Dr. Roux had been by earlier in the day to check on his wounds, which continued to heal nicely. He no longer required bandages. The doctor had informed him that his scars from where the bullets pierced his skin would likely remain for the rest of his life, but Enjolras was unfazed. It was of little price to pay, considering his friends' ultimate sacrifices.

Enjolras watched the shadows dance across the walls, his mind otherwise absorbed and awake, too on edge for sleep and too tired to know what else to do except prolong the act until his eyes eventually closed of their own free will.

Éponine's lessons had been going remarkably well—academically, anyway—until that casual stroll some weeks ago disrupted everything, as well as the subsequent conversation Éponine had tried to have with him over tea about opening up to her. It was more than once now that the young lady had made mention of his damned troubles, and that was all it took for his insecurities to creep to the surface in the form of snapping and shutting her down on the spot. She hadn't said anything too prying that should unnerve Enjolras to hear, but playing over their cold conversations—well, cold on _his_ part—repeatedly gave him pause. Too much pause, apparently, seeing as he couldn't sleep because of it.

_What else is new?_

There was also the daily visible proof that Éponine was over Marius, and, he didn't know why, but it felt like a small triumph that expanded in his chest whenever he caught sight of it. He even found himself smirking almost smugly at times and would have to check himself in the off chance that anyone else was looking. There was a respectful, albeit invisible, distance between them now that only those privy to the young woman's private sentiments could detect, Enjolras amongst them. She and Cosette were also getting on well, and there was something to be said for a woman befriending the wife of the man she had once taken a bullet for.

_Yes, she really_ has _changed..._

Her withdrawn demeanor over dinner, however, was troubling. Éponine had barely made eye contact with him tonight, nor offered much by way of conversation, instead choosing to sit quietly and allow everyone else to fill the room with chatter. More than once, Enjolras had been tempted to approach her and ask what was the matter, but decidedly chose against being direct in the end.

Not that he normally concerned himself with how others chose to behave. He had never had time to consult a lady's heart or feelings before, whatever they may be, and Éponine wasn't particularly difficult to read. There was a time when she wore her sentiments on her sleeve like armor, to be sure, but she had grown more careful and guarded since then, as he had once suggested she should. Tonight, however, had been an exception.

It was a worry Enjolras pondered in the quietude of his bedroom most of the night. Was it a result of his doing? And, even so, why should it be?

_More to the point, Enjolras, why do you care?_

Perhaps, deep down, he knew his answer. He was fond of the girl, if only a little. He rather enjoyed her somewhat clumsy attempts at civility, though she was improving every day, and not because it was humorously maladroit but, rather, endearing. With more polish and practice, Éponine would most certainly perfect her skills at becoming a Mademoiselle—there was no doubt about that in Enjolras's eyes—but there was a fascinating aspect to her person that would always set her apart from other ladies.

To Enjolras, this had nothing to do with her upbringing. It was, more simply, _her_. It was evident in that unpretentious shyness she displayed to outsiders, combined with the bold prowlness that surfaced when she was alone in his company; a mixture of alluring contradictions—of a young woman who wasn't quite sure what she wanted out of life but was open to trying everything—and Enjolras found it immensely appealing.

It didn't change the fact, however, that Éponine seemed to possess a keen insight Enjolras wished she didn't. When it came to unearthing the emotions he held back, the troubles that plagued him and for which she had already witnessed numerous times, or the weaknesses about his character he would much rather keep to himself, Éponine hinted at knowing them all.

They had both survived the horrors of the barricade ambush, and yet, their experiences had altered them in very different ways. Éponine had crawled her way to safety, just as he had, but she escaped quietly, and without looking down the barrels of several loaded guns beforehand. She hadn't watched those brave men die, many of them weeping and crying for their mothers; or seen her own brother fall, which she must surely be secretly thankful not to have witnessed.

_No, it isn't the same..._

Then again, wasn't all death and destruction the same when one put aside the details that complicated its simplicity? They had both experienced love and loss: Éponine in losing any chance at Marius's affections, as well as the death of her brother, and Enjolras's loss of his cause, of Patria, of the ideals he held so dear.

'I just want to help.' Those were her words to him on more than one occasion, and it was those words that kept recycling in Enjolras's head. She wanted to help him..._what_, exactly? Move past the pain? Pluck him out of his despair and piece him back together like a broken instrument that would never properly play again?

_No... It isn't that simple. Nothing is simple anymore._

And yet, the offer kept ringing in Enjolras's ears, mainly because Éponine kept up her pursuit, and yet, Enjolras still found her kindness unexpected, as had the discovery that holding her hand in the middle of the night was such a comfort. Finding her acting less than herself tonight plagued him more than he knew it should.

_You should go to bed, Enjolras._

Enjolras grunted and slipped back underneath the covers, bringing them up to cover half of his face. He needed to rest, and it wouldn't do any good to think on..._this_, whatever it was.

Just as Enjolras closed his eyes, however, an alarming cry from down the hall reached his ears, jolting him straight out of bed faster than he thought himself capable. Fumbling for crimson-colored robes draped at the end of his bedpost, Enjolras wrapped the material around himself for added warmth and, with his cane in hand, progressed down the hall in haste, though it took him more time than it ought to reach the source of the noise: Éponine's bedroom.

Enjolras stopped before the door and listened intently; muffled squeaking from the bed, followed by soft moans and cries in the dark, told Enjolras that Éponine was in the midst of a night terror. Should he go in and wake her up?

_To enter a lady's chambers without permission? You're a fool, Enjolras!_

Enjorlas scratched his head and thought over his dilemma. Then, he remembered what he had made Éponine promise some many weeks ago and straightened his posture, along with his resolve. He pounded the door loudly and the cries abruptly ceased. Sensing that she had woken up, Enjolras knocked on the door again, only with less severity.

"Éponine? Éponine, are you awake? It's Enjolras."

Why did the silence make his heart beat so furiously against his chest? Enjolras swallowed and stepped away from the door, deciding it would probably be best to leave the poor woman alone and go back to bed, when the door suddenly creaked open, and a rather disheveled-looking Éponine stood before him in her bare feet, her nightgown hugging her petite frame, along with the shawl given to her by Cosette that was draped across her shoulders. She was shivering from the cold, but also from perspiration, which he could see trailing down her face, neck, and heaving breasts...

_Enjolras, get a grip!_

"En - Enjolras?" She rubbed at her eyes, her brow furrowed in surprise.

"Yes, I - I'm sorry," he found himself stammering and despised himself for it, "but you were having a nightmare. I overheard you, so I came to check that you were all right."

"Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry, did I really wake you?"

"No, I was already awake."

"Oh... Surely, it must be well past midnight?"

"Yes, it is."

"I see..." She trembled again and wrapped her shawl more securely around her shoulders.

"Are you all right to go back to sleep?"

Éponine's gentle eyes searched his, and, even in darkness, the exchange left the pair of them temporarily short of words. "I think so," she muttered at last, giving him a soft smile that spread to her eyes.

"Very well." Enjolras nodded, wholeheartedly wishing to get away from whatever peculiar feeling had crept over him, leaving him unstable and anxious. "Well, erm, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Slowly, he turned on the spot and headed back in the direction of his room, when some light pitter pattering along the floorboards reached him and Enjolras whirled around to find Éponine standing right behind him. She paused, almost running into him, and hurriedly fastened her shawl around herself again.

"Will you be able to get back to sleep?" she questioned.

"Pardon?"

Éponine's cheeks reddened. "Sleep," she repeated, feeling utterly foolish for approaching him like this. "Erm, I mean, your nightmares..."

Enjolras searched her eyes for a long moment before caving his shoulders. The small smirk he bore caught Éponine off guard, and her heart inadvertently fluttered at the sight of it.

"Would you care to sleep on my sofa chair?"

"Oh! I... Well..."

"The one that's terribly uncomfortable?"

"I don't mind," she responded faster than she wished to.

Enjolras's alluring smile broadened. "All right," he conceded and quietly led her back to his room, "but only until dawn," he added once the door was closed and he had situated himself back in bed.

"You don't have to speak to me as though I'm a child."

Éponine's grumbling made Enjolras sit up. "What?" He tried to suppress a chuckle, particularly at catching the immature pout lining Éponine's pink mouth.

"Oh, just give me your hand, would you?" she sighed, holding out her hand to him as she settled into the sofa chair she had brought closer to the bed. She curled her knees up to her chest and looked terribly uncomfortable; or so Enjolras thought.

Enjolras cautiously wove his larger hand through hers, and a familiar wave of calmness befell them both, allowing each to immerse in the warmth of the other's presence. With their fingers loosely braided together, Éponine's and Enjolras's bodies relaxed, sinking into a pleasant intimacy as they held steadfast to one another.

"Would you like to tell me what was troubling you tonight?"

Éponine's head perked up. The silence had grown comfortable enough to doze off, but when she met Enjolras's eyes, she found him wide awake.

"Nothing," she answered, her voice low and hushed. Then, thinking better of keeping silent, she consented with a sigh, "I've been having these nightmares the past few nights..."

"Go on."

Éponine bit her lip. "Of my parents..."

After a considerable pause, Enjolras shifted beneath the covers, but otherwise kept his unwavering gaze on her. "You think they'll return to claim you?"

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"Marius sent them away." He suddenly added with concern, "I'm assuming he told you?"

"Yes, he did, and it's fine. I just... I don't know. I can't help but worry; 'wait for the other shoe to drop,' as they say."

"I understand."

"Do you?"

Her rhetorical question surprised him; Enjolras blinked and nodded against his pillow.

"Yes, I do. They were unkind, Éponine, and undeserving of you."

They fell back into a easy silence after that. Enjolras was the first to fall asleep, and it was only once Éponine was certain the man was dozing that she chanced opening one eye to stare at him without reserve. He was indeed fast asleep and snoring softly, his mouth slightly gaped, though something was different this time. If Éponine dared believe what her eyes showed, Enjolras was nearly smiling.

Listening to the man's even breaths, and aware of his slight tightening of their interlocked hands, a grin mapped its way across Éponine's face; one that was filled with, for the very first time, a sense of utter contentment and hope.

* * *

Éponine yawned and unfurled her legs, throwing them over the sofa chair. Prying open an eye and turning her head, the darkened sky told her it wasn't quite yet dawn, but it would be upon her soon enough. She hesitantly sat up and arched her back before peering over at the gentleman she thought was still asleep, until she squinted to make out his face.

Enjolras's eyelids were half open but staring at her, nonetheless. They were gentle and unperturbed as they roamed over her face. Slowly, his lips etched into a soft smile that left Éponine bereft of air. Eventually, all she could do was smile back.

It was then that it dawned on her awakening conscience that their hands were still intertwined. She peered down at his hand holding hers, looking circumspect, before stealing another glance at Enjolras, only to find his thoughtful reflection unchanged. She hardly knew what to think but finally, after staring at each other for a while, she decided to rise.

Enjolras held her back from loosening her grip on his hand, however, and tugged ever so slightly. Silently, he coaxed her back to his side, only this time onto the edge of his bed, and Éponine braced herself, unsure of what he wanted. His eyes, filled with consideration and intrigue, searched hers for an agonizingly long moment before he craned his neck and pulled down on her head at the same time.

It was swift, unexpected, and, at first, terrifying—at least to Éponine, who nearly gasped and fell off the ledge of the bed—but the overpowering sensations that overtook her after contact with those masculine lips wore off her initial shock. Enjolras was kissing her on the mouth, and not just a light exploration of a kiss, but one that was fully engrossed and consuming.

Éponine couldn't prevent the soft moan that escaped her mouth, and that was all it took for Enjolras to press back. His hand scrunched the long, brunette tassels that wove between his fingers, and Éponine's hand came up to graze his cheek, feeling some of the brittle, morning stubble lining his jaw. Her breasts were lightly touching his chest, and, if she were paying attention to anything but his lips, she might have sensed his pounding heartbeat mixed with hers.

His lips were supple, appetizing, and seemed to match hers perfectly as they delicately massaged and pulled and sucked. As abruptly as he laid that smoldering kiss upon her, however, Enjolras suddenly broke it off, the shock of the situation taking over. He gaped up at her, astounded with his own forwardness.

The awkwardness would have been painful had Éponine not chosen at that moment to laugh, albeit nervously. Not knowing how else to address what had just happened between them, Enjolras reddened in the face and struggled to speak.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out ungracefully. "I don't know what came over me."

Éponine, too, blushed profusely. "It _was_ a surprise." She tried to calm her thrumming heart, but she was so caught up that she could hardly speak, let alone remain subdued about it.

_That was amazing!_ her mind was screaming. She desperately wished to taste him again.

"Are you truly sorry?" Éponine found herself asking before she could stop herself. Her question was met by an indecipherable expression form the handsome gentleman lying beneath her. "Do you regret kissing me just now?" she pressed softly for an answer, unable to bear the growing uncertainty knotting in her stomach.

Enjolras wasn't a man easily lost for words, but it would seem there was a first time for such an occasion, and that time was now. She lowered her eyes a fraction or two when he didn't say anything.

"Because I don't regret it," she mumbled; her words hovered in the air for a time, the two of them staring deep into each other's eyes, each intently studying the other.

"You don't?" he finally uttered.

"No... Do_ you?_"

Enjolras sighed and shook his head. "No, I don't. I've been wanting to kiss you since..." His eyes trailed to their still interlocked hands, and his thumb grazed the inside of her palm, which he then properly laid against his chest. "Since our stroll through the house all those weeks ago. That day you offered to help me, to get me to open up to you, it... It meant a great deal to me, Éponine. Far more than you realize."

"I meant what I said," she returned quietly.

"I know you did."

A fetching blush trickled onto Éponine's cheeks. "I never would have thought that we'd..."

She cut herself off and, again, giggled somewhat nervously, a gesture that Enjolras matched. His laugh was soft, yet spirited; more so than she had ever heard before.

"Nor I."

Éponine sat up straight and brushed her free hand through her hair, smiling down at him all the while. "I... I should probably go back to my room."

Enjolras met her suggestion with a small smile of his own. "I suppose you should."

"I'll see you at breakfast."

Éponine rose and, reluctantly, unfastened her hand from his. It felt alarmingly cold and empty all of sudden to not be holding hands, but Éponine forced herself to press on. Before closing Enjolras's door, she peered over at him; he was staring back at her with equal curiosity. Unsure of what else to say, Éponine giggled and drifted out of sight.

Once alone, Enjolras mindlessly ran his fingers over his moistened lips, the lingering trail of Éponine's warm touch, as well as her lighthearted laughter, ringing in his ears long after she was gone.

* * *

Molly scrambled to finish the cleaning in the parlor room before making her way to the kitchen to start breakfast. Monsieur Gillenormand, the Pontmercies, that fine gentleman of a guest, and that thorn in her side, the damned lucky Mademoiselle, would be up within the hour, and there was still much to do before breakfast could be served. Exhausted from another back-breaking previous day of intensive physical laboring, Molly was more than ready to throw in the towel, and it wasn't yet dawn.

Madame Pontmercy had picked out some hair accessories during their last trip into town that she wished to go over with the Mademoiselle this morning, and that would surely include Molly's involvement in making her hair presentable for the day.

Molly tried not to let her resentment show as she started on breakfast. Tom was already up and about as well, seeing to Monsieur Gillenormand on the upper level. Molly was quickly distracted by ever ill thoughts regarding the additional female party to the house.

What did that Mademoiselle do to earn such luxuries as a comfortable bed, pretty clothes on her back, and bountiful food at her disposal?

_Nothin', that's what!_ she snarled, aggravated to no end. Sure, she had saved Monsieur Marius's life, but so what? It didn't warrant the kind of attention the hussy was getting these days, not in Molly's sharp opinion._ I certainly won't be serving her much longer, I can tell you that much! That lass has overstayed her welcome!_

Tom had grown wary of her bitter remarks as of late, so Molly mostly kept them to herself, but her strong sentiments hadn't changed, _and they never will! I'll be damned if I serve someone so far below myself!_

Molly huffed and set about getting coffee ready. She would need to go up and wake the Pontmercies, as light was starting to seep in through the windows. Molly's limbs were worn out, and her swollen feet were throbbing, but she would have to soldier on. There was nothing to it with those who led the sort of life she did.

Molly wiped at her sweat-laden brow and stomped out of the kitchen and down the hall, making her way towards the staircase entrance when several creaks from upstairs halted her in her tracks. Were the Pontmercies already awake?

_No... They rarely ever wake before I've gotten to 'em first._

They weren't coming from her Master's side of the house either, that much was certain, and yet, Molly could detect distinct footsteps tip toeing down the hall. In fact, they sounded like they were coming from the gentleman's guest quarters.

_Merde!_ ***** she cursed her rotten luck. _Probably needs help gettin' down the damn stairs._

Sighing away her aggravations, Molly muttered irritably to herself and climbed the stairs, heaving her hefty frame up to the second level. She prayed she wouldn't find him, actually; she needed to see the Pontmercies first and continue with breakfast.

If she found no one, however, then there would be cause for concern. The stressed maid had seen to the rodent infestation that plagued several households, including her Master's, last summer, and finding a repeat of the problem would do nothing for her tattered nerves.

_Not this mornin'!_

Squinting against the faint light of dawn, Molly sauntered forward off of the stairs when something caught her eye straight ahead. Someone—a slender figure—was gliding down the hallway in nothing but a tight-fitting nightgown. Her dark tresses fell off one shoulder and swayed back and forth, as she made to discretely leave the bedroom of one that wasn't her own and retreat back to hers. She was too busy giggling and pressing a hand to her mouth to notice Molly watching, hidden away in the shadows. Her door creaked behind her as it shut, and Molly froze where she was, a devious smile making its way across her flushed face.

_Not such a Mademoiselle after all, are you, Missy?_

* * *

*** Translation:** "_Damn it!_"

**A/N #2: _Finally!_ :)  
**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: _WOW!_ I'm absolutely _floored_ by the responses to the last chapter! _Thank you so, so much for all your feedback!_ I continue to be amazed by the response to this work, and your reviews, recommendations, and fav'ing mean so much to me. :)**

**Unfortunately, things are pretty hectic for me right now, so I may have to put off the next chapter to two a little longer than I would like. While I appreciate that many of you want more frequent updates (I _do_ try to stick to my every 3-4 day posting regime), _I simply need more time to write right now. _So, this is just a head's up that, while I'll certainly do my best to keep the updates to the time frame that they've been, if I have to slow down for a little while, *cough* blame my place of employment, not me! ;) **

**Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 11**

_**"Will you take your place with me?"**_  
_**-Les Misérables**_

* * *

Breakfast was uneventful with a distracted Éponine, too preoccupied by the unexpected, yet pleasant, early morning she had had to think on food. More than once, Monsieur Gillenormand asked if she was unwell, but, judging by her glowing smile and rosy complexion, it was obvious that the young woman wasn't ill.

Enjolras was his normally reserved self, every so often chancing a fetching glance at Éponine. Perhaps _that_ was what put her in such a good mood—catching the swift glimmer of amusement in his eyes before it vanished and returned to its usual brand of seriousness.

_But that kiss..._

They had another lesson today, and Éponine had wondered how that might go over. Whatever was happening between them, they would surely need to address it, wouldn't they? Éponine could only hope that Enjolras wasn't intending to ignore the issue altogether, as she was quite adamant to discuss where they now stood.

_Is it an 'issue'?_ she found herself questioning throughout breakfast. _It shouldn't be, should it?_

"Oh, Éponine," Cosette's sweet voice interrupted her growing concerns, "I nearly forgot! I have some exciting news for you. Marius, Monsieur Gillenormand, and I have been invited to a Masquerade Ball next week. You both are coming with us!"

"Oh?" Éponine couldn't contain her surprise, which was soon followed by panic. "That sounds lovely, Madame, but—"

"No," Marius chuckled with a firm shake of his head, sensing what was coming on Éponine's part, "we insist that you accompany us. No excuses!"

Éponine smiled politely, though her insides were churning, along with her nerves. She was grateful in that moment to not have consumed much of her breakfast.

Unaware of Éponine's reeling mind, Marius narrowed his eyes teasingly at Enjolas, "That means you, too, Enjolras," he emphasized with a smirk.

If Éponine was surprised to receive such a lavish invitation, as well as apprehensive about being introduced to the toast of high society, Enjolras was altogether cool and calm by comparison. He almost looked disinterested in the whole idea. He finished his bite of food before addressing his friends.

"I cannot dance," he answered simply, to which Marius reacted with hearty laughter.

"Well, of course, we know _that!_" Sensing that Enjolras wasn't going to take part in the humor of it all, his smile lessened. "Oh, come now, Enjolras, it'll be fun! No one's going to force you to dance, if you don't want to; but you _must_ come and enjoy yourself."

"And who will Mademoiselle be in all of this?" he pressed quietly, nodding towards Éponine across the table. "How do you plan to introduce her to everyone?"

"As a distant cousin," Cosette answered with her pretty smile, "who has come to stay and live with us permanently." She added as an afterthought, "Oh, and your parents are dead. We'll figure out the details later."

Éponine brought her lips together to keep from snickering. Evidently, Cosette was trying to maintain the same decorum. Enjolras, however, was the only individual at the table missing the amusement passing between them all. He laid down his utensils with a deeper scowl.

"And her inheritance?" he asked.

"A healthy sum that shall come from me," Monsieur Gillenormand gruffly answered, smirking at Éponine, who turned her gaze to him in amazement, "whenever _that_ conversation arises, naturally; but that's not something we need to hammer down right now. Sometime in the near future, perhaps."

Enjolras gnawed at his food more attentively. Éponine would have liked to protest to any lump of money from the old man, only she preferred finding a more private opportunity to do so; drawing attention to his kind act of charity, particularly in front of everyone else, would do her no good, she knew.

"Do you _really_ think I'm ready?" Éponine whispered, wishing to be reassured.

"Absolutely!" Cosette confirmed, giving her an encouraging grin. "You've been ready. Now it's time to show you off. I think you'll like our friends."

"Not all of them," Marius muttered under his breath, giving Éponine a satisfied smile of his own.

Overhearing her husband, Cosette playfully nudged his arm. "Perhaps not _all_ of them, but most are good company."

"Speak for yourself," Éponine vaguely heard Monsieur Gillenormand mutter into his glass of water. No one else seemed to pick up on the remark but her, though.

"Who's hosting this event?" Enjolras questioned once some time had passed in silence.

"The Beaumonts."

Éponine caught the curious, all-knowing exchange between Marius and Enjolras, and that was all that was said. Not wishing to be rude, Éponine didn't pry further, though her intrigue was heightened by the silence that followed. Although she was nervous for her first real social outing amongst the elite, she could feel the excitement and anticipation building already, and breakfast wasn't yet through. When she remembered that Enjolras was invited and would be attending as well, Éponine felt much more at ease.

Later, in the midst of a rather awkward and tense-filled lesson, Éponine chanced inquiring, unable to stop herself, "Who are the Beaumonts?" The curiosity had been eating at her since breakfast, but she was also determined to put aside whatever strange tension hovered in the air.

"Why do you ask?" Enjolras returned, giving her a funny look over.

"No matter; I was just curious is all. You and Marius seem to know them."

"And what gave you that impression?" Enjolras returned with a clenched jaw; his terse reply was jolting, and caused Éponine's worries to increase.

"The way you both carried on after Marius said their name, as though there was nothing else to be said."

Enjolras's features hardened. "Monsieur Beaumont's son, Marcel, attended university with us, and considered our political views—well, _mine_ more so than Marius's, as I was much more outspoken—a folly. He ridiculed our efforts at every turn. I'm sure, at this upcoming ball his parents are throwing, he won't let the opportunity to tell me yet again go amiss."

"I see..."

"Needless to say, I'm _not_ looking forward to attending," he grumbled, appearing quite put out over the matter. "I find balls in general to be tiresome and tedious."

Éponine couldn't help finding the pout he wore captivating. "Well, regardless, you'll have to hold your tongue, won't you?"

Her light teasing caught Enjolras's eye. His face slowly relaxed, and the two of them shared a comfortable, shared smile before lapsing back into a peculiar silence that Éponine, for one, didn't like. Since Enjolras hadn't brought up the kiss from earlier, Éponine found herself increasingly torn by his silence. She had hoped he wouldn't act as though nothing had happened, _because it did!_ her mind fumed. In fact, she feared just such an aloof reaction but tried to think better of her own misgivings during breakfast. _You're prone to thinking the worst, Éponine_, she told herself in an effort to stay calm. _Don't rush to conclusions._

Ever since her lesson started, however, the subject hadn't yet surfaced, and, by mid-morning, it was driving Éponine around the bend. Twisting her fingers together in her lap, she decided to quietly push her book away. The curt gesture made Enjolras's eyes flicker in confusion.

"Are we going to talk about..." Éponine's started before her resolve faded; she waited for Enjolras to say something, anything.

"I had hoped we might avoid this," came his carefully drawn reply, which caused Éponine's face to turn a shade whiter, until he leaned in and whispered adamantly, "Not here, Éponine. I have no wish to brush off the matter, but not here."

_Well,_ that's _a relief!_

Befuddled, Éponine shook her head. "But... If not here, then _where?_"

"I'm not sure, but in a different setting. Not during your lessons, at any rate. We need to carry on as if everything's normal."

_As if nothing happened_, she began to panic and inhaled slowly, staring at him without blinking.

"I understand that, but we're alone now, Enjolras."

"That doesn't matter. Here, I'm your tutor, and you're my pupil."

"But—"

"Read me this sentence aloud," he disrupted her train of thought rather too harshly for her liking.

For added emphasis, Enjolras pushed the book back towards her, leaving Éponine in disbelief where she sat with her mouth hanging open. Éponine sensed her emotions getting the better of her, and her breathing quickened in an effort to hold back fresh tears.

"You regret it, don't you?" The words, filled with unmistakable hurt and rejection, tumbled out of her before she could find the will to stop them.

Enjolras, though cross, eased his gaze a little. "No, of course not—"

"It's because of who I am, isn't it?"

"_What?_ No!"

"I'll always be that grimy, ugly hussy from the gutters to you, won't I?"

"Éponine, what's come over you?"

He reached out to take her hand, but she swiftly slid out of his grasp and pinned him in place with a tormented glare he had never witnessed before. He could see the tears forming in her dark eyes and drew back, quite shaken and alarmed. His arm was still half extended out to her, but the intensity between them was so heavy now that he didn't chance reaching for her a second time.

"Why did you kiss me?" she all but hissed at him.

"Éponine, slow down—"

"Why did you kiss me?"

In the back of her mind, Éponine sensed she was probably acting irrational, but the bewildered expression Enjolras wore wasn't helping matters, nor the fact that he either refused, or, worse, couldn't supply her with an answer. Instead, he stared at her, aghast, his mouth opening and closing several times.

"I..." he started and stopped. "Well..."

_He doesn't have an answer_, she concluded, a pain unlike anything she had felt in a long while taking hold of her chest. _He_ does _regret it._

Éponine couldn't withstand the painful silence. Shooting him down one last time with tear-filled eyes, Éponine scrambled out of her chair and ran out of the parlor, not caring whom she might come across along the way back to her room, her only destination in mind. She wanted to be alone, to yank the lovely accessories out of her hair, to rip at the luxurious fabric of her new, cream-colored dress.

_You idiot! You should know better by now! Why couldn't you be more guarded with yourself, Éponine? You're cursed in love, you know that? Cursed!_

It hadn't even occurred to Éponine yet what she had just admitted to herself in her head, so she forced herself onward, not paying attention to where she was going, too busy wiping furiously at her eyes to care. Unexpectedly, she collided with Molly as she turned a corner, and the pair of them stumbled backward against opposite walls. Molly began ranting and raving immediately, cursing at her and telling her to "watch where she was going," but Éponine ignored her heated shouts and took off at a full run, not stopping until she reached the sanctuary of her bed chambers.

Throwing herself inside, Éponine slammed the door and collapsed onto the floor, letting go of herself at last and allowing the tears to fall freely. She tore the hair accessories from her scalp and tossed them aside, and her long tresses tumbled every which way to her shoulders. Her emotional display was messy but heartfelt, unpreventable and unforeseen.

_You've been a complete fool, Éponine, and this is nothing less than you deserve. You let yourself fall again, and now look at you! Back exactly where you started. Idiot, idiot, idiot!_

* * *

Hours later, Éponine was startled out of her woeful stupor by an excited pounding on her door. She shot to her feet, having sat on the floor for so long that her limbs were stiff and nearly gave out on her. Her heart began to pound furiously.

"Éponine? Éponine, are you in there?"

_Cosette._

"I... Erm, yes," she called back, though her voice was strained and worn down. It dawned on Éponine then that she had been crying for quite some time.

"Can you open the door, please?"

Sucking in a breath, Éponine quickly wiped at her eyes again, brushed out her hair, and did as instructed. She found the blonde-haired beauty standing worriedly, or confused, in her doorway. She eyed Éponine up and down.

"Is something wrong?"

"I..."

"You never came downstairs for our afternoon lessons, so I've come to fetch you. I would've sent Molly, but she said you ran into her earlier, and she was in such a tether over your run-in that I didn't bother sending her up here."

Éponine's cheeks reddened in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry, Cosette. I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

"Waiting?" she giggled, which eased Éponine's nerves a tad. "That was hours ago. It's _concern_ at this juncture. Did you fall asleep?"

"I... Yes, that was it," she lied through her teeth, too tired to care. "I'm really sorry—"

"Oh, don't be. This must all be very overwhelming for you, getting your bearings and all. You must be exhausted by now. You've done remarkably well, though, Éponine, _truly._"

Éponine hung her head, unable to mask much of her heartache. "Thank you."

"Are you all right? Is something the matter?"

Cosette strolled halfway into the room and stopped, reaching out to take Éponine gently by the arm. "Nothing, I'm fine," she tried to fib again, sensing she wasn't at all convincing. "I'm a little tired, actually. Would you or Monsieur Gillenormand mind if I skipped dinner this evening? I think I'd like to lie down."

"Not at all," Cosette reassured her and quietly guided her to her bed. "I'll have Molly send up something for you. Are you feverish?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I think I'm just a little run down is all."

_And I want to bury myself beneath these covers and never reemerge_, she concluded miserably.

"Please don't send for Molly," she added; the last thing she needed was more aggravation and drama right now.

"But you must eat something!"

"No, really, I'm fine, Cosette. I should be well by tomorrow."

_Not a chance_, her mind snorted; not that she needed convincing.

Cosette nodded compliantly but didn't seem put at ease and only moved away once Éponine sat down on the edge of her bed and began to undo the back of her dress as though Cosette weren't there. She halted in the doorway and turned around.

"Are you sure nothing's wrong?" Éponine weakly shook her head, which somewhat appeased Cosette, until she additionally said, "Only Enjolras was looking rather upset this afternoon, too, when I saw him..."

"Oh?"

Éponine prayed Cosette would simply leave and let her be for a while; she couldn't talk about Enjolras right now, and, frankly, she didn't give a damn if he was upset. He hadn't answered her question, and his silence spoke volumes in her opinion: he didn't fancy her one bit, and that was that. His kissing her had been a misjudgment on his part, and he was now having second thoughts about his actions.

"Yes," Cosette continued, unmindful of Éponine's ill feelings, "he wouldn't elaborate, but I could tell something was troubling him. Did something happen during your lesson?"

"No, nothing," Éponine insisted and shrugged it off, praying against hope that her vacant expression would put an end to the woman's unwanted inquiries.

"Oh, well," Cosette sighed at last. "Get some rest, and we'll check up on you later."

With that, Cosette gave her another soft smile and left the room, closing the door behind her. It took all of Éponine's depleted energy to slip out of her dress, and even more energy to rack herself free of her damn corset all by herself; but, at last, she was stripped bare of all her pretty things, which she didn't bother to hang up or drape over her chair. She left them all in a heap at her feet and climbed into bed in her nightgown, prepared to sleep off the rest of the day, which had started out with such promise but was ending in unwarranted misery and disappointment.

_How could things drastically change so quickly? I thought... I thought there was something there..._

* * *

"Strange that she hasn't come down, isn't it? First, dinner, and now breakfast. What could be wrong?"

"I think we should call Dr. Roux," Marius suggested to his grandfather, but Cosette patiently patted her husband's hand and addressed all three concerned men, which included Enjolras, sitting silently across the table from the others and not looking much better himself.

"She isn't sick, my love. She's tired. There's a difference. I think we should wait. She'll probably be fine in another day or two; more rest will put her body to right."

"If you insist," Monsieur Gillenormand consented, but with evident reluctance.

For a time, the only sounds were the clinking and clanking of utensils as everyone took time to savor their food silently. Enjolras had been the quietest of the group, however, both throughout dinner the night before and this morning. He had spent the past many hours cursing himself for not giving Éponine a direct answer to her question; and anyway, why was it so difficult to verbalize?

'Why did you kiss me?'

It was a legitimate question, after all, and one Enjolras had wrestled with since it crept up the previous day. It was only once he awoke with a fresh conscience and a clear head that morning that the answer finally hit him like a hard punch to the stomach. He sat up in bed and hitched a breath, feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

_Yes, you know the answer..._

"Monsieur?"

Enjolras was jolted out of his contemplations by Molly, the maid, who had set a cup of hot coffee down before Marius but lingered at his side, fidgeting strangely with her hands. Enjolras watched her with curiosity; there was something puzzling in her shifty, dark eyes that had put Enjolras ill at ease ever since he arrived at Monsieur Gillenormand's estate. He certainly had no reason to dislike her—she had always been courteous enough to him—but there remained something lacking in her character, and in that seemingly forced smile of hers, that made Enjolras mistrustful of the old woman, whatever her intentions may be.

"What is it, Molly?" Marius asked, all but ignoring her as he took a sip of the coffee she had brought him.

"Might I have a word with you, Monsieur?" Her eyes darted about the room first before she added, "Alone?" with more emphasis.

Marius peered up at her, intrigued, as did the rest of the table occupants. "Is it something pressing, Molly?"

"I'm afraid so, Monsieur."

Marius shrugged and made a face. "Then certainly it's not something that the rest of the table can't hear, surely?"

"I really must insist, Monsieur."

Enjolras drew back a little when the woman's eyes locked on his for the briefest moment before looking away, her harsh mouth lined in a deep-seated frown. Marius consented and excused himself from the room, along with Molly, whom Enjolras watched go with uncertainty.

"What do you suppose that's about, my dear?"

Cosette glanced at Monsieur Gillenormand, perplexed. "I'm not sure, Monsieur." She casually turned her gaze to Enjolras. "Do you?"

"No," Enjolras confessed, his eyes fixated on the door that separated him from Marius and the sketchy-looking maid, "I haven't a clue..."

* * *

Enjolras, completely absorbed in his thoughts that had much to do with a certain attractive, dark-haired young woman, was interrupted during his carefree stroll of the house by Marius, who caught up with him halfway down the hall, heaving excitedly once he reached him. "I see you're hardly leaning on that anymore!" Marius chimed, pointing to the cane in his friend's hand.

"Yes, well, it's about time," Enjolras smirked, slowing his pace so that they could walk together.

Marius latched his hands behind his back and eyed Enjolras sidelong a few times before speaking up, after catching his breath, "Since Éponine's indisposed at the moment, and you're on your own for the day, I thought we might chat before I head off to university?"

"Of course."

"The library?"

Enjolras agreed with a quiet, "Lead the way."

Once safely tucked inside the elegant room that towered from floor to ceiling with book shelves, Marius motioned for Enjolras to sit in one of its many furnishings, propping himself down on the sofa. Enjolras took a seat nearby in a chair and leaned forward, finding his friend's sudden twitching and shifting about rather peculiar.

"Something on your mind?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, there is." Marius glanced over at Enjolras, skepticism or puzzlement marring his brow. "Can I be frank with you?"

"Of course you can, Marius."

"Because Molly, our maid, has informed me of something she saw yesterday that had her greatly alarmed..."

Enjolras gave him an unknowing look. "Oh?"

"Something about... Well, you."

"Me?" Enjolras arched an eyebrow in surprise but waited for Marius to explain further.

"Yes, you and Éponine."

Enjolras tried to act indifferent, but his stomach was suddenly doing somersaults at the mere mention of her name linked with his. "What about us?" he asked as casually as possible, though the grip on his cane had unconsciously tightened.

Marius took a moment to scratch his head first. "She told me she saw Éponine exiting your room at dawn in nothing but her nightgown, and that she retreated to her room thereafter." He paused, allowing his words to sink in, before chancing a glance at Enjolras, who was still as could be. "Is this true?"

_That_ wasn't the real question Marius was asking, however, and Enjolras was no fool. Marius was indirectly asking if they had slept together, and Enjolras wanted to be infuriated by such an insinuation, both regarding his character but also Éponine's. That bothersome maid—_sticking her nose into our business as if she had any rightful place to do so!_—aggravated Enjolras to no end, but he knew that he couldn't deny what was partially true about the old woman's story, and one that could easily be misconstrued: Éponine _had_ been in his room all night and left at dawn. Convincing Marius that their sleeping in the same room together was an innocent gesture of kindness, and that nothing happened, would take a bigger hurdle of convincing, however.

"She slept in my room, yes," he drawled quietly, keeping his voice controlled, "but we didn't sleep together, Marius, if that's what you're trying to get at."

Marius angled his eyebrows, unconvinced. "You didn't? I'm not sure I follow..."

"She slept in the sofa chair, and has done so on several occasions since—"

"_Several occasions?_"

"Yes, whilst I slept in my bed. We haven't done anything, Marius. I wouldn't ever take advantage of yours or your grandfather's hospitality like that—"

"But you—"

"Nor would I do Éponine such a dishonor to her person, as your maid has so grossly implied."

"Erm, I don't think she meant—"

"But you don't believe _me_, do you?"

"I'd like to, of course, but Molly—"

"Saw Éponine coming out of my room," Enjolras issued with more emotion than before. "As I've previously stated, Marius, she slept in my _sofa chair_ all night and _not_ in my bed."

Marius scooted to the edge of the sofa, looking suddenly shamefaced and embarrassed that he and his good friend were even entertaining this discussion. He clamped his jaw, unsure of how to continue, when the questions eventually made their way out.

"How long has this been going on?"

Enjolras truly didn't know the answer to that question, and it showed in his marred, facial expression. "A month or two, perhaps?"

"_Really?_"

"Don't look at me like that, Marius," Enjolras chided through a snarl.

"But... _Why?_ Why is she spending so much time in your room?"

"If you _must_ know," Enjolras managed through clenched teeth, "I'm prone to nightmares."

"Oh... Well, yes, I'm well aware of those. I've woken you from them several times myself, remember?" He scratched his head again, still not making heads or tails of their encounters. "As a matter of fact, I thought those had stopped?"

"They have, mostly..." Enjolras took a deep breath to will the words out, no matter how weak they chanced making him sound. "With Éponine's help, they've lessened considerably. She's just down the hall and hears them every other night or so, Marius. Sometimes I hear hers as well. She started coming to my room to calm me down."

Marius raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And stayed in your room?"

"It's not _that_ indecent, Marius. We don't sleep together, I don't bed with her, we only..."

Enjolras cut himself off, realizing he was chancing saying too much, but it was for naught. Marius inched forward on the sofa, hanging onto every word, wishing to know what Enjolras wasn't sharing with him.

"Only _what?_"

With difficultly, Enjolras blurted out, "We hold hands." He awaited Marius's reaction, but when his freckle-faced friend simply shot him a blank stare, Enjolras explained, "It calms us and helps us to sleep. Don't ask me why. I haven't figured it out myself, but I'd be a hypocrite if I were to sit here and tell you that it hasn't helped me immensely—"

"Do you fancy her?"

The question was so unexpected that Enjolras fumbled not to lose possession of his cane, which nearly toppled to the ground before he managed to catch it. His cheeks flushed a deeper red, the sentiments beneath the surface emerging on his face despite his efforts, conveying to Marius their meaning without Enjolras having to utter a word.

After a stifling pause, Enjolras issued a calculated breath and raised his head. "It's isn't like that, Marius..."

"What on earth do you mean?" Marius's serious face transformed into a surprisingly pleased grin, lifting the atmosphere around them in its wake. "There's nothing wrong with it, Enjolras. If you fancy her, you should tell her!"

"You're putting words in my mouth—"

"How long are you going to deny yourself?"

"Deny myself _what_ exactly?"

"You know of what I speak..."

Enjolras grunted and turned away, unable to look Marius in the face any longer. He could feel his cheeks burning, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation here and now. The silence between them stretched out for too long, but Enjolras wasn't willing to press onward. Marius was cutting too close to the heart of the matter, and Enjolras didn't appreciate it one bit.

"Enjolras, please," Marius pleaded after a time; Enjolras slowly met the man's imploring gaze. "If you fancy Éponine, _you should tell her._ Don't confuse the poor girl, I beg you. You've both been through enough turmoil."

"Marius—"

"I'd like to see you happy. Don't you want the same for yourself?"

To this, Enjolras frowned, the deep lines around his mouth echoing the burdensome weight of the situation. "I couldn't make her happy," he whispered back, the words pain-sounding and difficult.

"How can you say that? Does she return your affections?"

For a moment, Enjolras couldn't answer. Perhaps he didn't want to believe it; or maybe he wanted to believe it so desperately that he couldn't think of anything else for the past several days.

_You know which one it is, Enjolras..._

"I believe she does," he finally replied, to which Marius's grin spread wide across his handsome face.

"Well, well, well. This is quite a surprise! _You_, my friend, _are in love._"

"Who's to say I'm in love?" Enjolras retorted in haste, which only made Marius burst into robust laughter.

"Enjolras, don't deny it to yourself, or to her!" He cocked his head to one side, staring at his curly-haired guest with a newfound curiosity. "Was it your tutoring sessions that brought about this interest; or something else?"

Choosing to ignore Marius's earlier remark about being in love, Enjolras muttered, "I'm not sure," and absentmindedly twirled his cane on the floor.

"Well, in any case, I still say you _must_ tell her—"

Enjolras cut him off, however. "Marius, I haven't been entirely forthright with you..."

Marius's smile flipped upside down. "Oh?"

"Yes..." Enjolras inhaled through his nostrils before continuing, "This morning, before your maid caught Éponine leaving my room, I..." Enjolras swallowed; had the room grown stifling all of a sudden, despite the winter gust that blew outside, or was that his imagination? "I kissed her."

Marius's eyebrows rose high on his head. "_You did?_"

Enjolras narrowed his eyes, warning Marius not to make a joke of the matter. For a second or two, Marius gaped at him, stunned into silence. Then, that amused glimmer resurfaced and danced across his eyes.

"My, my... _Enjolras!_"

"_Ne fais pas le con!_" *****

"_And?_" Marius ignored Enjolras's remark with a snicker, far too eager for more details.

Enjolras's jaw tightened. "And when she asked me later that morning why I kissed her, I couldn't provide her with an answer."

Marius's smile lessened, though it didn't vanish entirely. "Oh... Well, I think that's because you're only now coming to understand the 'why,' Enjolras." Seeing Enjolras's furrowed brow, he humorously shook his head and chuckled. "_You're in love, my friend_, and you're going to need to reconcile with that fact, whether you like it or not, first, by telling Éponine."

"I can't," Enjolras grumbled, internally struggling against his feelings. "She's angry with me for not giving her an answer, and rightly so!"

"So, _put things to right._"

"You're not at all put off by this?"

"Why should I be?" Marius returned simply, not looking at all disturbed as Enjolras anticipated. "I have nothing against Éponine, nor you, so wherein lies the problem?"

"I... I don't know."

Marius regarded his troubled friend more thoughtfully, his eyes scanning Enjolras with a mixture of admiration and continued amusement. "There's nothing wrong with caring for another, Enjolras. You have so much to give, my friend. Don't do yourself a disservice by pushing her away."

Marius quietly rose from the sofa and walked to the door, leaving Enjolras where he sat in the middle of the otherwise empty room, Marius's insightful words still ringing in his ears. To Marius, the man looked truly lost amongst the elegant furnishings, worn books, and massive painting hanging on the wall behind him. The lonely, sad sight it projected gave Marius pause.

"Thank you for telling me what happened," he offered, filling the silence for his friend. "I confess, I'm glad it was me whom Molly came to instead of Grandfather."

"I'm admittedly grateful for that, too. He probably wouldn't believe the truth."

"I wouldn't go that far, but he would certainly be upset." Marius turned the door handle when a thought struck him. "I suggest we keep this between us. I'm not sure Cosette would take too kindly to it either. She's understanding but the two of you sharing a room together and _not_ being intimate...well..."

"She wouldn't believe it either," Enjolras finished grimly.

"I'm not quite sure."

Wishing to reassure his friend, Marius shot Enjolras a devilish smirk before quietly leaving the wrestling revolutionist to his private musings. He mulled things over in silence in the library for quite some time, never moving from his chair, though his mind kept drawing the same conclusion. Was he in love?

_How can you deny it? That kiss... Those lips... Her face... That wonderfully open face..._

Deep down, Enjolras already knew. He _did_ fancy Éponine and she openly returned his sentiments, even if he hadn't figured out why she had come to think twice about him. Not that he was an unsightly fellow...

_But I'm stubborn and broken and troubled!_ he cursed his rotten luck. _What the hell could she be thinking?_

Acknowledging his heart's desire, as well as those faults with which he detested, Enjolras could sense himself beginning to_ feel_ again—for a living, breathing thing rather than a faceless ideal—and confronting those sentiments, he knew, were going to be his greatest testament yet.

He snorted aloud. Taking on the French army was a walk in the park compared to dealing with _this_—with such messy troubles that were of sentimental concern. Dealing with matters of the heart was _not_ Enjolras's forte.

'Put things to right,' Marius had told him, and quite adamantly.

_Yes,_ Enjolras resolved, the conclusion forming on his stern, marble face, _that's exactly what you must do..._

* * *

*** Translation:** "_Don't be an ass!_"

**A/N #2: What's life without a little angst? **

**Shameless plug - If you're enjoying _Beyond the Barricade_, why not consider reading one of my other stories, which involve a different pairing set in the _Harry Potter_ world, but...still? The ship may seem odd or even off-putting to some of you unfamiliar with it, but I advise you to at least give them a chance before writing them (and me!) off. Just a friendly suggestion, that's all. :)  
**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Your lovely responses to this story continue to astound me! _Thank you so very much for the reviews, recommendations, favorites, and follows!_ I'm tickled pink and, if I could, I'd squeeze you all to bits! **

***cough* But I won't, I'll leave that to E/É. I hope this chapter tugs at some shipper heartstrings. :)  
**

******Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 12**

_**"A heart full of love**_  
_**No fear, no regret"**_

_**-Les Misérables**_

* * *

By the time Éponine emerged from her room the following day, looking far worse for the wear than any of her party expected, she had forgotten about the upcoming Masquerade Ball altogether, and wasn't much looking forward to her first presentation as a proper Mademoiselle when Cosette reminded her of it later in the day.

_I'd rather eat dirt_, she grimaced to herself, unable to mask her displeasure.

Harder to face still was Enjolras. Her lessons had become an absolute mind torture since that day she stormed out of the parlor, fighting back tears that took over eventually once she was isolated and alone. She hadn't expected to fall for Enjolras so hard, _and yet, you did, Éponine!_ she scolded herself repeatedly since.

Éponine could hardly concentrate during her studies anymore, and it didn't help that the blond gentleman seated so close to her—near enough to permeate her personal space with the smell of his natural musk and masculinity, as though he were personally assaulting her senses somehow—was as visibly uncomfortable as she could have imagined. He still hadn't given her an answer to her question and didn't deter from her lessons either.

It was all Éponine could do _not_ to walk out on all their hard work, but she knew to do so was childish, not to mention beneath her own standards of perseverance. In her new life, she couldn't resort to her former hide and stew tactics. She was indebted to the Pontmercies, as well as Monsieur Gillenormand, for their generosity in granting her an education, and, thus, she would put on a brave face and push on, no matter what it cost her heart.

It was only when Cosette happened to mention the prospect of suitable bachelors expected to attend the upcoming Masquerade Ball that Éponine's ears perked up again, and a captivated interest in the affair returned. Considering that Enjolras wasn't showing any interest in the event, nor_ her_, for that matter—or so it appeared—Éponine was determined to put her best foot forward, both figuratively and literally. She had once more allowed her heart to overrule her head, and now it was time for a change. She didn't think Enjolras capable of such heartlessness, but then, she wouldn't allow herself to be taken advantage of again—by anyone.

It was those trappings she was trying _not_ to reinforce mentally when, later in the week, Enjolras's smooth voice disrupted her thoughts. "We're through for the morning," he stated matter-of-factly, closing her book and thereby ending the lesson.

"Very well."

Éponine started to rise from her chair with a chilly regard like usual when he abruptly asked, "Can you spare another moment?"

_No... Please..._

Éponine sucked in a breath, but quietly returned to her seat. "I suppose," she mumbled, not sounding at all pleased.

Enjolras could feel that piercing coldness in her reply that made his chest constrict. Morbidly, he reflected that, if he touched her hand now, it would probably be as frozen as her very presence projected. He forced himself not to illustrate any disgruntlement, admitting that he probably deserved this brush off from her.

Since she had disappeared into her room for nearly a full day, Enjolras had grown quite desperate to talk it over, especially after coming to the hard-hitting awareness of his buried affections; and yet, the opportunity hadn't presented itself since her reemergence, though it was obvious why. Éponine had purposely been keeping herself at a distance, much to his growing frustrations, and usually ran off as soon as their sessions were through. He prayed this morning would be different.

"I know you're angry with me for what happened, Éponine, and I've been wanting to address it with you, only...I haven't known _how_ to go about it. I also standby what I said before: I didn't wish to do so in _this_ environment; but here we are."

"Enjolras—"

"Let me finish, if you would, please," he insisted, half reaching for her hand before thinking better of it. "I apologize for my rudeness. I was caught up in the moment and honestly couldn't think clearly, but it had nothing to do with_ you_."

"You really don't have to—"

"And it had everything to do with you at the same time..."

Éponine reared back and quickly turned defensive. "Pardon? I don't follow you."

"You asked me why I kissed you," Enjolras leaned into her, the warmness of his blue eyes magnetic for the first time in days, having been trying to work up the nerve to speak from the heart rather than the head. "I didn't answer because I didn't realize my true feelings at the time. I only came to realize what I know now to be my answer after you stormed off."

Éponine stared on, breathless at first, before her mind started screaming warnings to her to pull away. _Don't let him hurt you! You can't go through this again! You simply can't! Leave now!_

"I - I'm sorry, Enjolras, but—"

"I implore you to let me explain."

"No," she insisted with more force than she had meant, "I can't— I have to go change before Madame Pontmercy's lessons this afternoon."

"But—"

Before Enjolras could stop her, Éponine shot out of her chair and dashed from the room, turning a corner at the end of the hallway by the time Enjolras made his way into the corridor. He stared on after her vanishing form before sourly cursing himself and returning to the empty parlor, a disappointed scowl marking his face.

* * *

"Are you looking forward to this evening, Eponine?"

Éponine beamed at Cosette, who was standing behind her in the full-length mirror they both stared into. They had been getting ready together for the past hour in the attractive blonde's dressing room, along with an unhappy Molly, who was prying Éponine's long hair into a pretty bun of pins and hair jewels, only she wasn't being nearly as rough as she would had been were they alone.

Éponine adjusted the ribbon on the front of her navy dress that was made of the finest Parisian silk, effortlessly offsetting the color of her ivory skin and auburn-set eyes. She was quite pleased with her appearance and couldn't help but express so wordlessly at the unrecognizable reflection that stared back at her in the mirror.

_A far cry from the lowly girl of the streets, that's for sure_, she considered with a small smile. _This is going to take some getting used to._

"I'm a little nervous," Éponine answered through an anxious-ridden laugh, "but excited at the same time!"

"If ever in doubt this evening, just follow my lead." Cosette, dressed in an all-lavender number, gave Éponine a reassuring wink in the mirror. "You'll be fine. The important thing is to enjoy yourself and dance with every fine gentleman who asks for your hand!"

"I'll try."

The idea sounded a bit ludicrous to her. Gentlemen never noticed her before, and, even in her fetching gown, she hardly believed the Mariuses and Enjolrases of Paris would take any interest in her tonight.

_Still thinking you're a Nobody, Éponine. Cut it out!_

"We'll have to see to it that Enjolras enjoys himself, too," Cosette continued to prattle on. "Poor man. He's been moping and looking ever so glum these past few days; more so than usual."

Éponine paused at _that_ bit of commentary, even if she already knew it to be true. Enjolras _had_ seemed particularly drab ever since trying to approach her about their passionate kiss. Éponine was rather regretful of not giving the man the opportunity to speak, but then, her heart was already torn enough, and her mind confused as it was. There was no need to go down that road again.

_And yet, he clearly wanted to give you the answer you've been seeking, Éponine!_

If Éponine were alone, she would have cursed herself for being so damned conflicted, but there was nothing for it now. That was, until Cosette saw the fuming look burning in her eyes that she wasn't aware of showing.

"Éponine?" she chanced, freshly concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Oh! Sorry. Yes, I - I'm fine."

"You _will_ help me with Enjolras, won't you? Help me ensure that he doesn't scowl in a corner all evening?"

Éponine shared Cosette's amused giggles, but then Molly piped in, as she fastened the buttons on the back of Cosette's dress, "I'm sure Mademoiselle won't miss the opportunity to make sure Monsieur is enjoying himself."

Éponine's smile faltered and her complexion turned a shade paler. She shot the maid a deadly glare to rival any freedom fighter, but Cosette continued to laugh away the confusion surrounding the maid's comment.

"What on earth are you talking about, Molly?"

"Nothing, Madame," Molly smirked, her hostile glare reserved for Éponine alone once Cosette turned away from the mirror. "It's not my place."

"You're right, it isn't," Éponine sputtered loud enough for both of them to hear. She stalked out of the room quickly, leaving a puzzled Cosette and a triumphant Molly to themselves.

"Really, Molly," Cosette insisted once they were alone, "what was that all about?"

* * *

"Have you forgotten something?" Monsieur Gillenormand humorously goaded Enjolras upon his appearance in the entryway.

Éponine had been putting her gloves on when she peered up to find a handsomely-attired and very attractive in general Enjolras standing a few feet away, cutting a most elegant image indeed. He donned what was undoubtedly his "signature" color: a vibrantly crimson waistcoat with a black belt, trousers, and knee-high boots. Glimpses of a white shirt peeked from beneath his ensemble, which was buttoned to his neck. The only item missing was a red, white, and blue ribbon—the symbol of his revolution that, before the ambush, had always been pinned to his chest with pride. Its absence was sorely felt, at least to Éponine, and she suspected it had to be the same for the wounded gentleman standing before her, trying to put on an indifferent face for his company. Yet, even without the ribbon, he still looked every bit the magnificent revolutionist she remembered from nearly a year ago, so much so that her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him.

Perhaps it was the way he held himself—his broad shoulders pulled back and his chin high—but he was a striking image to behold, nonetheless. It was only after inspecting him up and down a few times that Éponine realized what Monsieur Gillenormand was referring to: Enjolras was cane-less and had evidently come downstairs and across the length of the house on his own. It was a small triumph, to be sure, and Éponine started to smile brightly at his progress when she remembered that she was still somewhat cross with the man, and her smile disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced.

Enjolras and Monsieur Gillenormand carried on with their light bantering for several minutes before turning their attention to Éponine. They were all waiting on the Pontmercies to depart, and, as far as a nervous Éponine was concerned, they couldn't have moved slower if they were a pair of turtles returning to the sea.

"You look very nice this evening, Mademoiselle."

Éponine nearly shivered at Enjolras's soft-sounding address. When their eyes met, his gaze was enticing enough to suck her right in, and she had to compose herself properly before answering to his compliment.

"Thank you, Monsieur, as do you."

Enjolras bowed and a few of those tightly woven curls swept across his eyelashes. Éponine had to avert her gaze to keep from making herself look like a hopeless fool. She hastily focused on tightening her gloves instead, wanting to put that alluring image out of her head at once.

Finally, the Pontmercies came down the stairs and the five of them hopped into a large, horse-drawn carriage en route to the Beaumont's Masquerade Ball. As their hostesses chatted excitedly about the coming evening, Enjolras and Éponine found themselves sitting next to one another in silence throughout their short journey, not chancing a glance in either's direction, for the most part.

When the carriage pulled up to the vast Beaumont estate, Éponine finally acknowledged Enjolras by commenting on another item that seemed to have gone amiss from his person. "You didn't bring a mask?" she questioned, to which he regarded her quite gently.

"No, I have no intention of dancing this evening."

"Then why did you come?"

Éponine could feel the heavy weight of her disappointment in knowing she wouldn't be afforded the opportunity to twirl on the dance floor with him, until she remembered once again that she was supposed to be angry. It meant she would truly be left to dance with a handful of strangers, which didn't sit well with the butterflies in her stomach.

Enjolras ignored the severity in her voice, however, and instead offered her a wry smirk. "I'm here for the wine, naturally."

With that, he hopped out of the carriage after the others and extended his hand for her to take. At first, Éponine hesitated. _Let go of your anger for one night, Éponine, and enjoy yourself._ With that, she succumbed, allowing Enjolras to escort her inside by the arm. If the man she found herself so hopelessly drawn to could find a reason to smile this evening, despite not wishing to be there, then so could she.

Éponine was taken aback the moment they entered the Beaumonts' home, a stately establishment with the most vibrant settings she had ever set eyes on. Walking through the main hall, where several tapestries and extravagant furnishings were on display, the atmosphere set by dramatic candlelight, Éponine let out one of several audible gasps, the last of which upon entering the main ball room, which was appropriately elaborate and large. Guests were dressed to the nines. The crown moldings and high painted ceiling were additional feasts for the eyes, and Éponine found herself gawking unreservedly around the room, questioning how the heck she had arrived at such a place.

"Éponine, your mask!" she heard Cosette motion to the one she held in her hand.

Quickly, Éponine came to her senses and placed hers—a bright blue covering with beads and matching feathers—over her face. She thought she heard Enjolras snort beside her but ignored whatever jibe he might surely be thinking at her expense.

It wasn't long before Éponine was bombarded by a series of introductions to Monsieur Gillenormand's and the Pontmercies' friends. A couple of them knew Enjolras as well, and Éponine noted the hesitation in their faces when they greeted him. He hardly spoke a word to those he recognized, however, instead keeping his replies short and to the point.

After nearly an hour of conversation with strangers, Éponine found herself being introduced to the hosts of the evening, Monsieur and Madame Beaumont, a charming older couple who expressed a keen interest in Éponine, particularly once they discovered she wasn't spoken for, despite having arrived on Enjolras's arm. Éponine realized soon after why they subjected her to a relentless series of questions, for Marcel Beaumont the Younger suddenly emerged at his mother's side, looking quite a sight for sore eyes—at least, to Éponine's dissatisfaction.

Marcel's hungry eyes roved over Éponine's figure as though she were a piece of artwork to be plucked for the family's collection. "This is my son, Marcel," Madame Beaumont introduced with a proud smile, although Éponine was unsure if there was anything to be truly prideful of, even with the man currently wearing a mask. Marcel was a heavy-set, young man with greasy, dark locks that stuck to his forehead, and eyes that spoke of only one desire from the ladies. He clumsily bowed his head to her with a smug, off-putting smile. Unless Éponine was mistaken, she could smell sherry on his breath, even with a wide berth between them.

Marcel removed his mask and gave her his full smile. His teeth were yellow and crooked, and the forceful manner with which he regarded her was enough to make Éponine cringe, though she did her best not to. She was too distracted to realize that Enjolras's hands had balled into fists at her side.

"Welcome to our home," Marcel offered charmingly enough, taking a moment to also greet Marius, Cosette, and Monsieur Gillenormand before turning back to her. "How do you find the house, Mademoiselle?"

"Oh, it's splendid!" Éponine replied, trying to smile back and finding it difficult.

"Do put aside your mask so I can introduce myself properly, won't you?"

Éponine looked to Cosette for guidance, who silently encouraged her with an apologetic nod. Why she felt so terribly exposed showing her face to this man, Éponine knew not, but, in her gut feeling, something was off. Sucking in a breath, she removed her mask and curtseyed.

"You're a pretty lass," he said cheekily, and Éponine caught the subtle squirm on Marius's and Cosette's faces. Enjolras's body, too, stiffened. "So, your parents are dead, are they?"

"Um, yes, Monsieur..."

"How long have you been in Paris?"

"A few months now," she lied, forcing another false smile.

"Do you find society as dull and terribly drab as I do?"

"Marcel, _really!_" her mother scolded him through a hiss, trying to be discrete, though it didn't work.

"What? Surely, Mademoiselle _must_ think so by now! Look at the company she keeps! Even Marius here is not as fun as he used to be! Don't you remember how we—"

"Yes, I remember," Marius muttered under his breath, wanting to drop whatever subject the man was about to reveal.

"Oh, that's right, forgive me," Marcel snorted and sneered at his guests. "You boys were too busy with your little revolution nonsense, weren't you? Pray tell, how did that go in the end?"

Marius's face hardened, and only Éponine caught Cosette's subtle attempt to ease him back by the arm. Marcel's parents, as well as Monsieur Gillenormand, who were in the midst of their own private conversation, stopped at overhearing Marcel's remark.

"Not well," someone piped up beyond the group; it was only then that Éponine realized that Enjolras had fallen back and was now standing with his back to the wall, his arms firmly placed behind him. The glare he shot Marcel was enough to discourage any man, though Marcel was proving early in the evening as a force to be reckoned with.

"_You're_ here?" he asked haughtily, surveying Enjolras up and down with aversion. "I didn't even see you."

"I was invited."

"I see." Marcel turned from Enjolras to Marius and back again. "What a pity."

"Yes," Enjolras snipped in return, his voice quiet but seething; Éponine could detect the rage boiling beneath his masked expression of detachment. "Nice to see you again, Marcel."

"I cannot say the same for _you_, I'm afraid. How is it you managed to survive, anyway? I thought you and your lot perished?"

"My 'lot'?" Enjolras's pupils dilated.

"Yes... All those boys from university who blindly followed you—to their ends, no doubt."

Éponine froze where she stood, as did everyone else in their circle. She tried to eye Enjolras sidelong, noting that his eyes had brightened. That almost terrifying look reminded her of how passionately inflamed the man could prove when provoked, much like his dealings with the French army.

"You're out of line, Marcel," he whispered through a clenched jaw.

"_I'm_ out of line?" Marcel mockingly snorted. "What captain doesn't bravely go down with his ship?"

"See here, Marcel," an enraged Marius started on him, but Enjolras cut in before he could finish.

"Brave, indeed," he hissed, keeping his emotions steady. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"I _am_ disappointed. Your revolution was idiocy turned on its head; I told you that. It's little wonder your efforts crippled, and now look! All of those promising young men: dead. And here, their leader stands, unharmed and ready to parade about the floor as if he were dancing on their very graves!"

Éponine was floored, unaware that her mouth had fallen open at the careless insults Marcel was provoking Enjolras with. It would seem the others were just as openly disgusted.

"Why you..." Monsieur Gillenormand stepped forward but halted at Marcel's returning affronted look.

Éponine would have rushed to her tutor's defense herself if she wasn't so utterly stunned by his lack of tact. In the midst of her shock, it hadn't dawned on her that Enjolras had softly excused himself and walked off, leaving their party as quietly as he had come.

"Well, now that _that's_ settled," Marcel issued to his alarmed guests, including Éponine, "come, Mademoiselle, let me give you a personal tour of the estate."

Marcel stepped forward and held out his arm, nearly shoving Éponine with his elbow; she opened her mouth to protest, but, before she knew what was happening, she was spun around on her feet and drifted—unwillingly—away from her party, the shock within her quickly turning to rage, which she was forced to suppress should she otherwise disgrace her friends with her emotional outbursts.

If Éponine thought her first night out amongst the _crim de la crim_ of Paris was getting off on the wrong foot, it was only going from bad to dramatically worse. Although she tried several times to escape Marcel's clutches by trying to insist that they rejoin her party, Marcel resisted her demands and kept up his nagging pursuit of showing off every inch of the first floor, mainly explaining his family's vast art collection, although it sounded far more like gloating over his parents' wealth and prestige that he would surely come to inherit, than a genuine interest in art.

The place was cramped with people, and it was a full hour or so later before Éponine finally found her way back to the ball room, though still regrettably in Marcel's company. She spotted Marius and Cosette taking a turn on the dance floor together, Marius trying to be extra mindful of his wife's feet by constantly looking downward instead of ahead; but they still looked to be in relatively high spirits.

"Poor man; he always was a pathetic excuse for a dancer," Marcel laughed boisterously, leading her out by the arm in a most forceful way that reminded Éponine of her days on the street, when she was hustled and manhandled by the most revolting of men. Marcel was proving himself no better than any of those lechers in her eyes. She was scowling openly by this point, but Marcel was either too arrogant to notice, or, more likely, too ignorant to comprehend his lack of propriety.

"I think Marius dances perfectly fine," she grumbled, whilst Marcel began to twirl her about.

"Oh?" He belittled her with a smug smile. "And Enjolras, do you think _he's_ a good dancer?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never seen him dance, but I would venture to guess—"

"He was never into these grand affairs, but then, his father disowned him for his political activities, so I suppose he got no less than he deserved. He shouldn't have come; he doesn't belong here."

"That seems—"

"What?" Marcel challenged, arching an eyebrow at her. "Unkind?" he cackled, causing Éponine's face to flush madly. "Actually, I pity him, poor fellow. I would _never_ want to be in his shoes. God's most certainly punishing him for his sins."

"I wouldn't pity him if I were you," Éponine returned heatedly. "He's done very well on his own."

"Has he? Starting with that fallen barricade, I presume?"

Éponine tried to stop the dance, but Marcel laid a hand on her back and shoved her almost violently against him. She gasped at his unwanted advances and tried to wiggle free, but it was rather useless. He was physically much stronger than her, and much like the hustlers who had come before him.

"At least he stood up for what he believes in," she snarled, glaring him down as best she could.

"And got innocent lives killed in the process, Mademoiselle."

"Those men held the same beliefs and values as he did! Marius, too! He's not responsible—"

"Don't be a damned fool. I don't know what possesses the Pontmercies or Monsieur Gillenormand to keep company with a dangerous man like that. I know his sort well. They're nothing but trouble. Enjolras has blood on his hands, make no mistake."

"He_ doesn't_ have blood on his hands! We all make our own choices. Those men _chose_ to fight alongside him, and that's the price they paid for taking a stand."

"Yet, he survived?"

"And you assume he_ wanted_ to survive, do you?" Eponine shot back, her emotions getting the better of her. "You think he hasn't thought about those men every single day since then?"

Marcel, ever more curious, cocked his head. "Do they let broads like you into their revolutionary club?"

"_What?_"

"Well, you seem to have a high and mighty opinion about it all."

Éponine finally maneuvered free of his grasp. He shot her a harsh look of offense, which only made her step further away from him.

"As do _you_, for someone who doesn't fight or believe in much of anything except unjustly insulting those who are undeserving of your tactless remarks!"

With that, Éponine left Marcel standing partnerless on the dance floor and stomped away, her hands fisted at her sides. She frantically searched the room for a familiar face, and spotted Monsieur Gillenormand sitting in a chair with several other elderly gentlemen and women near the live orchestra that was playing. He waved her over in haste, removing his mask.

"You looked like you were about to throw a punch, my dear," the old man smiled wickedly up at her, "not that I'd have blamed you. I was silently encouraging it all the while, or at least that you'd stomp on the man's toes."

Éponine readily returned his smile. "Thank you, Monsieur." Not wasting another moment, she hurriedly inquired as to where a certain crimson-attired gentleman had gone.

"I confess, I haven't seen him," Monsieur Gillenormand frowned, his eyes scanning the room. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's taking a stroll to cool off."

"Perhaps you're right."

Éponine curtsied and ambled away into the throng of masked individuals in hot pursuit of a revolutionist in red. Tonight's outing had made her realize—now more than ever—that she owed Enjolras an apology for not giving him a chance. She could only hope her instinct was right and that the information she might receive tonight would put an end to her emotional turmoil.

_You and your incessant need to not listen to the right people!_

Nearly a half hour later, Éponine had all but given up on locating Enjolras, when she decided to venture outside into the frigid night air, where she found several couples standing about, either waiting for their carriages or heading back inside. A light snow was falling, which Éponine took a moment to admire on the grand front steps. Then, she descended to the street and looked up and down, praying against hope he would be there.

Sure enough, she spotted a fine-looking gentleman in a blood-colored waistcoat, leaning against the far side of the house with his arms laced across his chest. He looked like a melancholic, marble statue, hidden amongst the shadows, with a trail of light snow falling rather beautifully all around him, the flickering lights of candles at his back forming an angelic hallow near his head.

Even in the darkness, their eyes locked quickly on one another, and Éponine found herself gravitating towards him in relief and anticipation. He appeared to have been standing outside for some time, as his nose and cheeks were quite red. Although he smiled politely at seeing her, his captivating simper didn't reach his eyes; rather, they were laden with bitterness and anger over the unpleasant encounter he had had earlier in the ball room.

"I see you found me," he offered as a leeway into conversation, a scowl soon relining his mouth.

"So I did; it took me quite a while, mind you, but I'm here." She watched Enjolras turn away from her, his nostrils flaring against the cold, winter wind. "How long have you been standing out here?" she inquired after a moment, wrapping her arms around herself for what little warmth it might provide.

"Since taking my leave from you and the others."

"You must be freezing!"

"I am," he confessed, though without emotion.

"Well, for goodness' sake, come back inside, and we'll talk!"

Enjolras gave her a half-cocked smirk. "I prefer to remain outdoors for the rest of this party. _You_, on the other hand, should go back inside."

"Enjolras, please, you'll catch your death out here—"

"I've been in far worse scenarios than this," he insisted, his expression like stone. "I'll survive."

"Well, in that case, so have I, so I'll keep you company."

Enjolras scoffed her off. "You should be with the Pontmercies and dancing with every eligible bachelor here, remember?"

"I already danced with one, and that was more than enough."

Enjolras's gaze flickered towards her out of the corner of his eye. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

To this, Éponine willingly teased him with a smile. "Not one bit," she answered, which seemed to soften the lines in his expression. "As a matter of fact, I should thank you for leaving me to defend myself against that slimy ghoul of a creature."

Humored by her frank opinion, Enjolras allowed the mask to fall a little. "Oh? Did he boast himself properly to you?"

"Revoltingly so, yes! And _nothing_ that man says could ever impress me, I'm convinced of it."

"That's a pity," Enjolras returned lightly, his eyes shifting towards the ground. "Well, you're now getting your first dose of what it means to be a lady. I suspect you'll have plenty of future dull encounters before the right gentleman comes along."

_I hope not_, Éponine frowned, staring at what she considered to be the perfect gentleman for _her_ already, though he wasn't looking back. She could feel the desperation within taking hold, twisting her stomach into knots.

"If that's the case," she swallowed painfully, "then it's exhausting and I'm not sure I want any part of it."

"Yes, well, be careful of whom you say that to, Éponine. There are many _miserables_ who would gladly take your place. Remember that."

Éponine nodded her understanding and waited on Enjolras to say something else. It became quite apparent, however, that either the man wanted to be alone with his thoughts, or had simply run out of things to say.

_I've really screwed things up_, she reflected worriedly.

Sighing, Éponine quietly sauntered in front of Enjolras so as to stare at him head on. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, though it was Enjolras's warmth that she really sought. She tried to ignore the fact that she was starting to shiver from the cold and focused her attention instead on the elegant figure that was intently staring at the ground instead of her.

"Are you all right?" she finally whispered, breaking the silence.

Enjolras met her question with a peculiar upward glance, a few curls hanging in his eyes. "Yes, I'm fine. Why?"

"You shouldn't listen to that wretched man. Nothing that comes out of his mouth should be taken to heart. He's thoughtless and unforgivably rude; that's all there is to it."

Enjolras's posture straightened. "I'm not affected by him," he snipped, which she knew to be an outlandish lie. "I've known Marcel a long time. I expected worse."

"Really?"

"Yes... Some people never change."

"No, they don't. I... I'm sorry, Enjolras. What he said was cruel; _terribly cruel._"

Éponine used the silence that followed to gather her courage and step closer. Enjolras's gaze never left hers. If anything, it intensified and made her heart beat faster.

"Enjolras?" she murmured, emotionally prepping herself for what might follow. "What were you going to tell me before?"

She was surprised to catch a gentle glistening in his eyes, one that made itself known despite the darkness. "Before you stormed off?" he prodded, making her nervously laugh.

"Yes. I owe you an apology for that..."

"As do I for—"

"No," Éponine cut him off and shook her head, "you already gave me your apology."

Giving her a conflicted look over, Enjolras, too, stepped closer to her, removing his back from the wall. He was now angling his neck, his eyes boring into hers with a ferocity that made her spine tingle. She visibly shuddered, but it wasn't the chill in the air that caused her to react. _It was him._

"You asked me why I kissed you," he began in a soft tone of voice; Éponine inadvertently leaned into him, wanting to be nearer.

"Yes?"

"I was fighting at the time to make sense of my actions, which is why I couldn't answer you on the spot. It was never my intention to hurt you."

"I know, I know..."

"Do you?"

Éponine's inviting expression told him exactly that. "Yes," she confirmed with a nod of her head.

A muscle in Enjolras's jaw twitched. "I know now _why_ I couldn't tell you. I suppose, in truth, I've known since that argument we had during our stroll of the house what I felt for you then, as I do now.

"I'm not a... Well, I've never been a man interested in the things most people are, Éponine. I've never known real sentiments such as happiness, attraction... _Love._" He paused on the word, staring deep into her eyes. "I've struggled and fought so long for issues greater and bigger than myself that I didn't stop to ponder the things that _I_ want."

Éponine's heart thrummed rapidly against her chest. She could sense from the off that Enjolras wasn't a sentimental man, even if her insight had always been limited, and yet, in the months she had spent in his company, she began to notice the underlying yearnings to connect, to feel, to touch another human being, just as she saw it now—so vivid and clear.

"And what do you want, Enjolras?" Éponine breathed, finding herself transfixed by his delicately chosen words and curvation of his mouth.

Linking eyes with Éponine's that were so unguarded and open he thought he might drown in their depths, Enjolras no longer felt lost, wrestling with the world's problems that often plagued him in the past. No, not lost, he considered with relief, but _found._

"_You_, Éponine," he finally declared to her in a tender whisper, unmistakable longing seeping through his voice. "_Je te veuux..._" *****

Éponine's breath hitched at the profoundness of those words—an expression she had been praying against hope to hear for far longer than she ever realized, until this moment. She could tell that he was heartened by the smile that spread across her face, which seemed to radiate from the innermost part of her soul.

Without uttering a word, for she was too lost for words, Éponine arched her neck to present him with a kiss. Their lips locked, and all sense of time and place drifted away with the spiraling snow. The feel of his warm lips pressed against hers reminded Éponine of that overwhelming heat that had overtook her the first time they shared such intimacy. It was electric, immediate, and all but shattered her senses. Somewhere, somehow, life sparked anew inside her, and Éponine found that she wanted nothing more than to deepen the kiss, a wish Enjolras willingly granted.

Reaching out to pull her against him, Enjolras wrapped his arms securely around the smallness of her back, hugging her to his warm, encasing fold. Their embrace perfectly suited one another, as though their limbs were made to be entangled. Hers meshed perfectly with his, but they were far too busy to notice.

Éponine extended her hands upward to mindfully twist curious fingers through his tight curls. She pulled his head down to recapture his mouth several more times, intensifying their lip-locking as they sucked and pulled and conquered.

Neither had any recollection of how long they stood unabashedly in the snow, devouring each other's taste and relishing in returned affections, but, eventually, their lips broke apart, and only at a familiar gruff of a voice that sounded nearby. There wasn't time to catch their breaths or move away from each other—not that either of them wished to be parted. Both swiftly turned their heads to find Monsieur Gillenormand standing a few feet away, clearing his throat and gawking at them along with the Pontmercies, although Marius looked appropriately smug and highly amused at catching them in the act. Cosette's expression, however, was unreadable for the moment.

"I didn't expect to find _you two_ like - like - like _this!_" Monsieur Gillenormand snapped, wiggling his bushy mustache.

Enjolras and Éponine tried to speak, but there seemed little point in divulging an explanation. It couldn't have been more overt.

"Monsieur—" Éponine began hastily, but the old man cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"No, no," he dismissed quickly. "I can see for myself what's going on here. I'm not _entirely_ incompetent yet in my old age, Mademoiselle."

Enjolras stepped forward and looped a hand through hers; it gave Éponine pause, and she contentedly allowed it. She found herself calmed by such a public, yet meaningful, display of affection, despite the awkward situation they now found themselves in.

"We weren't trying to keep anything from you," Enjolras spoke for both of them, his commanding tone one Éponine remembered well; her lips drew into a considerate smile. "We've only just come to the bottom of... Well, of how we feel for one another."

"_You two?_" Cosette stepped away from Marius, showcasing her shock. "_Really?_"

"Yes," Enjolras replied, and Éponine nodded as well. "Really."

"Molly was right..."

Marius was the first to shoot his wife a gaping mouth. "_Molly?_" He took Cosette by the arm, who started to protest and speak louder of the tale she had been told by the maid prior to their departure. "Love, it's not what you think," Marius tried to persuade her, whilst Monsieur Gillenormand looked on, confused.

"What the devil's going on?" he commanded.

"Monsieur Marius is right," Enjolras tried to speak over them all. "It's not what it seems."

Éponine peered up at him curiously, to which he appeased her with a look that told her they would settle the matter of Molly's disclosure later. Éponine wasn't yet aware of what Molly had told Marius and Cosette, but Marius kept insisting to his wife and grandfather that he would explain once they got home.

Cosette calmed down enough to comply, though she appeared undeniably put out for reasons that escaped Éponine, insisting over and over that she "hadn't wanted to believe what Molly told her."

Monsieur Gillenormand's next remark, however, got everyone laughing, including Cosette. "_Am I always the last to know what in God's name is going on around here?_" he shouted, exasperated.

His outburst immediately softened the shock of the situation for all and, together, the five retreated into their carriage, grateful to be leaving the Masquerade Ball behind in exchange for the comforts of home. _But it wasn't an_ entire _loss_, both Éponine and Enjolras mused to themselves on their journey back to the Gillenormand estate.

All the while, their hands remained tightly clasped together.

* * *

*** Translation:** "_I want you..._"


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Once again, your feedback and enthusiasm for this little story of mine leaves me speechless! I should also mention that there has been some_ absolutely amazing_ photo montages—even a fanmix and actual artwork *squeal*—floating around on Tumblr for this story that you should check out if you haven't! (I've linked to them all on my Profile; scroll down to Media Content.) **

**I can't express my gratitude enough to such amazingly talented readers, as well as everyone following and reviewing! The E/É fandom has been so welcoming to me as a writer that I don't think my thanking you repeatedly is nearly enough, but, still, I hope you understand how much it means to me. :) **

***cough* All right, enough of my sappy A/N! More development here, and, as always, I hope you enjoy it!  
**

******Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 13**

_**"...Out of reach**_  
_**Just a whisper away, waiting for me"**_

_**-Les Misérables**_

* * *

_What a whirlwind_, Éponine reflected as she wandered back to her bedroom, lost in her thoughts. Cosette and Monsieur Gillenormand had interrogated her and Enjolras adamantly following their return home from the (mostly) unpleasant Masquerade Ball. Eventually, both were accepting of what had been secretly transpiring between the two for some time, though Enjolras remained thoroughly uncomfortable at discussing their hand-holding at length, and how that had come to be.

Éponine was more infuriated with Molly. However, realizing she would have to be watching herself at every turn wasn't new. She had no idea she could be so despised by another person, until she recalled her parents' treatment, and the circle of shady characters she had once been subjected to daily on the streets. That immediately set Éponine's mind to rest, if only a little.

_You can handle, Molly, and anyway, your secret is out in the open now. You and Enjolras are still in one piece._

"Éponine," Cosette had taken her aside once everyone was ready to retire for the evening, "I want to believe you, I really do, which is why I... I tried to dismiss Molly's claims."

"I'm glad you did."

"I'm still a little shocked..."

Éponine shifted her eyes. "I know."

Cosette's next remark, however, stunned her into silence. "You're very kind...to Enjolras, rather; to help him as you have..."

Once Éponine recovered, she smiled delicately. "I wanted to."

"I... I'm sorry for questioning your regard earlier."

"There's no need," Éponine reassured her quietly. "It is the honest truth, I swear it."

That had been the end to the discussion. If Cosette was reassured by the explanations presented, then Éponine could only hope it wouldn't affect their friendship. Monsieur Gillenormand looked surprisingly comfortable, which all but shocked Enjolras, but Éponine detected that hint of pleasure and amusement when they were back in the carriage together. Annoyed with not being privy to a secret the old man may have been, but unsatisfied with how the night had turned out he apparently wasn't.

Climbing the stairs and dragging her feet all the way, Éponine thought the smile she displayed might never leave her face. To her, she surely must be glowing from the inside out, her warmth and elation pouring out of her in waves. That's certainly how she felt, anyway.

Enjolras's heartfelt declaration had been playing over and over in her mind. It had been difficult to concentrate on the fact that, at one point earlier, she and Enjolras were in trouble with the rest of the household. If there was one thing Éponine was certain of about the gentleman she had grown immensely fond of, it was that expressing his sentiments was difficult, and yet, he had managed to illustrate them with such clarity, and quite endearingly at that. It hadn't been boisterous or showered with flowery prose.

_It was real_, and,_ oh, so sincere._

The Masquerade Ball may have been dampened by the abominable presence of that snide, highly arrogant Marcel Beaumont, but it had ended with an exchanging of affections—sealed by a kiss—and from the one person Éponine had longed to hear the words from for longer than she knew.

_More so than Marius..._

_That_ caused Éponine to blink and shift away from her otherwise contended musings. Months ago, when she first came to the Gillenormand estate, she would _never_ have fathomed her tortured heart could get over Marius Pontmercy. In fact, she was prepared to go to her grave hopelessly in love with a man who would never return her affections, who was well above her ranks, and who would forever be a fragment of her life but nothing more. She expected to die of her broken heart, as melodramatic as it sounded, for she thought she _was_ in love with Marius all that time, only to discover what true love _actually _tasted like now—with another man. A gentleman more suited to her and her likings than any other.

Her attachment to Marius had been a naïve, childlike understanding. The feelings that she thought burned in the very depths of her soul for her dear friend weren't what she felt now. They were a fantasy of what she _believed_ true love to be when it was simply an idea, lacking of the fierce passion and desire and a smoldering in one's very loins for the presence, a kiss, or a soft-spoken word from a real lover.

Éponine now understood that _that_ man was Enjolras without a shred of doubt. What she experienced tonight was a testament to what she now knew to be true. Kissing had awakened her like a flame she didn't know existed, lying dormant inside her and waiting for someone to come along and breathe life into every fiber of her being. She found herself yearning to keep their hands attached, wanting to lock herself to Enjolras's hip, to remain near him, and to memorize the feel of his touch.

Éponine halted before her bedroom door and unconsciously ran her fingers down the front of her dress, releasing a low, deep moan of longing she had never uttered before. She felt lightheaded and _wanting_ and startled from the strange heat that trickled down to her sex, cast by the mere thought of a certain gentleman's large hands roving over her soft, bare skin.

Then, she really_ did_ jump when none other than Enjolras himself crept up from behind. He had climbed the stairs quietly, following her at a distance after she excused herself for the night, not really wanting to retire but more tired from this evening's affairs than she expected.

Éponine had been so consumed by her own arousing thoughts that she never heard him approach. She spun around, the inner warmth from the images in her head casting a bright flush onto her cheeks. Unaware of her private musings, however, Enjolras offered her a respectful bow.

"I just wanted to say goodnight," he whispered in that very gentleman-like fashion she admired, particularly now that she was so accustomed to hearing it.

Éponine stared up at him—eagerly—wanting to sketch a mental picture of every line to his attractive, perfectly-accentuated features. "Is that all?" she managed after catching her breath, watching as Enjolras's blue irises flickered curiously.

"No," he answered after an agonizing pause, "that's not all."

Enjolras stepped closer, this time without any hint of the former hesitation in his advances. His lips parted and drew down to capture hers, their taste savoring and all-consuming. Éponine thought her legs would surely melt into the floor. She fell back against the door frame, allowing Enjolras to close in on her, his hands cupping her face as their passionate pursuit of each other's mouths deepened.

The chemistry between them was magnetic and Éponine desperately craved more, an urge that had been building for far longer than the kiss they had shared at tonight's ball could bring. _Touch me elsewhere_, she yearned to request, echoing her desires aloud through a series of low moans into his mouth.

Without warning, Enjolras abruptly pulled away, and Éponine couldn't prevent the whimper that escaped her lips. They were both breathing excitedly, staring into one another's eyes as though the moment would never end.

Unsure as to why he would draw away from her so suddenly, Éponine extended her hands up to gently touch his face, and moved in for another kiss. To her disappointment, though, Enjolras cut her off with a mournful whisper.

"Éponine..." he started.

"What is it?"

He surveyed her face for a long time before confessing, "If I continue to kiss you like this, I fear I won't be able to stop."

"_Then don't._"

Éponine tried to kiss him again, but Enjolras swiftly took her hands in his and guided them away from his face. Her feet sunk back to the floor. He was tall enough that she had to reach onto her tiptoes to kiss him, and all she could think about at present was kissing him more. She stared up at him, pouting for lack of understanding.

"I'll take things too far," he insisted quietly, projecting a small smile that made her heart flutter excitedly. "And we've only just explained your frequent visits to my room to Monsieur Gillenormand, Marius, and Cosette. This isn't a good idea."

"But..." Éponine knew he was right, and her shoulders caved in defeat. "Yes, you're right..."

Enjolras inched closer, his nose nearly brushing hers. "Believe me, I _want_ to take things further, but..."

"But not like this," Éponine finished, her brown irises now tolerant and calm as they peered up into his.

"No," he repeated, "not like this."

Another smile etched across Éponine's face. She stretched onto her toes again, thrilled when, this time, Enjolras allowed her another kiss—one that was slower and less intense than the last but just as enticing. It was the best manner of illustrating her appreciation of the man's respect for her, for it was not something she had ever been granted before. Enjolras seemed to sense her gratefulness without a word.

_So_, she considered in awe, _he actually wants to respect me._

That much was clear. Enjolras wished to honor her person rather than simply take her as other men had, who had done what they wanted and then discarded her like a weathered rag that no longer served its use. Manhandling and being forced on by unwanted—and undeserving—creatures were to be a thing of the past, and it gave Éponine considerable pause once their lips parted.

"Thank you," she whispered, the appreciation in her voice self-evident.

With another gentle reflection in his eyes, Enjolras nodded. "Good night," he offered before turning around, his handsome figure trailing away out of sight.

"Good night," Éponine called after him, though she suspected he hadn't heard.

She watched his form disappear around the corner, and her fingers came up to rest upon her mouth, delicately feeling the lingering warmth Enjolras had left. Grinning to herself, Éponine giggled as she entered her room and shut the door.

* * *

The days that followed became a transition for all residing in the house. Éponine's education with Enjolras continued on as usual, the awkward tension of attraction between them fading into something entirely new—driven by a constant awareness of one another's proximity, movements, subtle glances, and the brushing of skin on skin. Wandering eyes and the need to touch a hand or a cheek were difficult to avoid, especially when alone in each other's company.

The sparks of attraction only intensified as the days wore on, luring tutor and pupil closer to one another with each and every lesson. By the end of Éponine's sessions, their chairs were normally touching, his knee brushing against hers, or with their hands interlocked, residing together until broken by the appearance of Cosette come to snatch Éponine away for the afternoon.

Monsieur Gillenormand and the Pontmercies took their friends' newly formed attachment in stride. Cosette was surprisingly—to Éponine—supportive once she got a firm handle on the truth, delighting in their union more than Éponine would have ever imagined. It was nice to have a confidant who not only understood her attraction but encouraged its natural progression.

As the first signs of spring made their presence known, the ladies resumed their daily garden strolls, their friendship blossoming into an establishment of true friendship. For Éponine (and she sensed for Cosette as well), it was a first, and wonderfully reassuring to have the confidant of another young woman in her life. Both were unaccustomed to such ties. The only female companion Éponine had been able to rely on from time to time was her sister, and, even then, they never formed the bond that she found in Cosette.

_Who would've thought..._

Éponine found herself opening up to Cosette with considerable ease, taking comfort in having another to confide in about the peculiarities of physical attraction, all of which were entirely new to her. She relied heavily on Cosette's input and direction, grateful to have the quiet beauty to turn to for guidance on 'such private matters of the heart.'

When it came to the topic of women, Enjolras also developed a newfound confidant in Marius. Their brotherly bond had long been attached to their unified passions in law, politics, and the pressing needs of those less fortunate, but the topic of women was more confounding than Enjolras cared to admit. His ever growing attraction to Éponine seemed to be hitting him from all directions and, not being able to make heads or tails of such emotions, Enjolras sought Marius's advice and reassurance.

"You talk as if love is a foreign object, Enjolras!" Marius would usually snicker at him, if nothing more than to provoke and aggravate his close friend; it too often worked.

"It _is_ foreign to me, Marius!"

"What is it you fear?" Marius asked more seriously, to which Enjolras flinched.

"I'm not afraid of these feelings, Marius."

"Well, just don't shut yourself down is all. She obviously cares for you."

Enjolras sucked in a calculated breath, the vulnerability behind his reply creeping through. "You think so?"

Catching that flicker of uncertainty, Marius's smile spread. "I _know_ so! Good God, man, are you even aware of how she looks at you?"

Enjolras couldn't answer that question, and it only earned him more laughter at his expense.

Getting to know Éponine was only the start of forming their attachment. In the weeks that followed their first public kiss on the steps of the Beaumont estate, the process of getting to know one another, as well as innocent gestures of exploration, became an everyday affair. Walks together through town or throughout the house offered ample opportunities for personal discussion, as well as for proper kissing in darkened corners where they didn't risk exposure. For the most part, it seemed that the house's disgruntled maid seemed to have given up on trying to degrade Éponine—at least to her face.

What began as a few casual strolls a week turned into quite extensive daily walks, their bond growing stronger and deeper the more parts of themselves they revealed. The process was slow-building, yet steady, and just the pacing that the two of them preferred. Topics ranged from personal tastes to views about the ever changing climate they lived in.

Éponine enjoyed Enjolras's engaging stance on the under privileged, which he spoke of increasingly with a returned enthusiasm, whilst he took pleasure in learning of Éponine's interests in music, art, and now literature—or what she was capable of reading so far.

Discussions regarding their futures were nearly always broached with a certain naiveté. Éponine wondered, despite not wishing to dwell too much on what might _not_ happen, if hers and Enjolras's futures would indeed coincide. Was it too early, or even improper, to hope for such things? There was no mistaking their attraction any longer, but what did that mean in the long-term, especially when the future was riddled with uncertainties?

There was also the still-sore topic of the barricade, and what Enjolras endured during those early dark days. Éponine's story was well-known, and she made a point of opening up to Enjolras further about the nightmares that still robbed her of sleep on occasion, normally involving traumatic events that happened in the home or on the streets growing up: being thrashed to the point of blacking out, panhandling that ended badly, or being overrun by groups of ruffians whose faces she, sadly, knew well and preferred to forget.

Enjolras would listen quietly, visibly hanging onto every word, but Éponine sensed the fury manifesting behind the piercing blue eyes—intolerance for the horrible life she had suffered at the hands of her parents, and, most especially, the men she rubbed elbows with, all in the same pursuits for food or shelter or, in their cases, pleasure. Éponine's survival at the barricade didn't plague her the same way it did him, however, and he reminded her of his surprise on that point numerous times.

"The convent helped me make peace with it," Éponine would calmly reiterate, hoping that sharing her suffering might ease Enjolras's own despair. "And besides, I went through far worse in my life. Nearly dying was quite peaceful, really, to the hell I'd already gone through."

"Yes, I suppose you're right..."

Enjolras's twisted countenance explained everything without words: he desired a sense of tranquility and acceptance of what happened that awful day—most desperately—but hadn't found it yet. It was in these quiet, solemn moments that Éponine took Enjolras's hand, safeguarding it in hers, and allowed the silence to illustrate her understanding of his pain.

* * *

Late one evening, as night settled in and everyone retired for the evening, Éponine found herself alone in her bed and thinking on the man just down the hall. She was quite cold, though not for lack of heat in her room. Rather, she heard noises coming from Enjolras's room—intense cries in the dark that abruptly stopped after several minutes.

Éponine hadn't crept into Enjolras's room much at all since the unfortunate revealing of _that_ particular secret. Neither was interested in getting caught again, since it would only allow for more damaging insinuations to circle. However, listening to Enjolras's occasional night terrors was frustrating, nonetheless. She suspected he still heard hers on occasion as well, though he politely never made mention of them.

Tonight, they had been louder than usual, and that concerned her greatly. She had also been tossing and turning for hours since awakening from a nightmare of her own—a grueling memory of her father beating her near senseless for losing the money he and his band of thieves had stolen from a gentleman's home near the center of town. She had completely forgotten to stitch the hole in one of her pockets, and her mistake cost her dearly. A severe beating ensured that Éponine would never let something like that go amiss ever again.

Éponine was relieved to hear Enjolras's cries cease, but her heart pounded still. Ever since she awoke, it hadn't lessened. If anything, hearing his distress whilst lying in bed and unable to do anything about it made her heart beat faster. Now, even with no longer hearing him, her heart wouldn't calm.

_To hell with Molly. To hell with all of it._

Throwing back the covers in defiance, Éponine draped her shawl around her shoulders and determinedly made her way to Enjolras's bedroom. This time, she made sure to look about for any signs of movement before determining that Molly wasn't sneaking about, and entered Enjolras's room undetected. Surprisingly, he was awake and sitting up in bed, causing both of them to startle.

"Éponine!" he breathed in alarm, after she quickly shut the door with a hand clutched to her chest.

"I thought you'd be asleep," she whispered back, her heart thrumming excitedly.

"Yes, well, that's beside the point, isn't it? _What are you doing here?_"

"I... I heard you."

Enjolras sighed and leaned back against the headboard, the tension leaving his face rather quickly. "I thought we discussed this. No more—"

"I know, I know, but... I couldn't calm down."

Enjolras surveyed her thoughtfully before beckoning her to his bed with his finger. Encouraged by the softness she could perceive in his eyes, Éponine smiled and settled down on the bed before him, encouraged further when he quietly took possession of her hand.

"Did anyone see you this time?"

"No, I swear it."

Enjolras raked his fingers through his curls, which Éponine then realized_ she_ would much like to do some time, and sighed, "Very well. You may stay here for the night."

Éponine's smile stretched, encouraged. "You say that as though it's a terrible burden to you."

"You know it isn't," he returned, an understated smirk emerging amidst the darkness.

Éponine giggled readily and started to rise from the bed when the tug on her hand stopped her. She peered down at Enjolras, who was motioning her back to the bed.

"No, here," he insisted, his voice soft and inviting. He scooted sideways to make room.

Éponine's breath caught in her throat. "Your bed?" she questioned, feeling both foolish and suddenly anxious.

If Enjolras was as assiduous about the idea as she, then he wasn't showing it. He nodded his head and answered simply, "Yes, unless you'd prefer to be confined to that uncomfortable sofa chair instead?"

"I... Erm, no, I wouldn't."

"Then come."

Enjolras's hand fell out of hers so that he could prop one of his extra pillows out for her to lay her head down upon. Éponine slowly unwrapped her shawl and tossed it over the side of the bed. Her mind was reeling with all manner of thoughts, but she forced calmness and crawled into the man's bed with caution, turning towards the window—away from him—and drawing the covers up to her neck, all the while trying to keep her head. If she wanted to fall back asleep, she wasn't sure _this_ was going to entice her beating heart and active brain to do so.

Aware of the warm body next to her, though not touching, Éponine turned her head, unsure of what to say. She could sense Enjolras's proximity and detect his slow, steady breathing, which made the hairs on her neck stand up.

Was he looking at her? Should she say something? How had they progressed from hand-holding to_ this?_

_Go to sleep, Éponine, for God's sake!_

Éponine swallowed hard and resumed her gaze towards the window, where a faint, bluish moonlight seeped through the glass, casting a soothing glow throughout the room. After a couple minutes of staring intently, she spooked when Enjolras spoke up, disrupting the quietude.

"You can relax, you know."

"Oh! I... Erm, yes, I know."

Éponine tried to settle into the comforts the bed provided, willing her mind to focus on the divinely warm sheets, the heavy blankets that made her feel secure and safe, although she would be much more snug and contented if Enjolras wrapped his arms around her—

_Go to sleep, Éponine!_

Enjolras's eyes fluttered open when he heard her grunt and observed her from behind for a time, clearly trying to settle down. "Can't sleep?" he finally asked, to which she muttered a defeatist "No," into her pillow that made him privately smile.

Finding her mere presence calming enough, only she didn't seem to feel the same, Enjolras surprised them both by inching closer, enough that she could feel his chest at her back. Gradually, he wove an arm around her body, and his hand came to warmly intertwine through hers. Éponine jolted at first and then quickly went slack in his protective fold. The weight of his embrace was a comfort unlike any she had ever found, and, soon enough, Éponine's eyes closed and her mind settled into an unconscious state. Enjolras soon followed, the last thought in his mind about how remarkably easy the simple act of snuggling was.

_Snuggling, Enjolras?_

* * *

Éponine started and pried her eyes open. Dawn was fast approaching, but all she could manage was a groan. She was simply too damn comfortable to move, although something was drastically different this morning, until her mind kicked in and she recalled where she had ended up.

A satisfied smile curled the edges of her lips as she sunk her head into her pillow, listening to the warm, even breaths that tickled the nape of her neck. Her legs were somehow entangled with furred limbs that weren't her own. A thigh was gently pressed against her backside, an arm loosely draped over hers, and fingers linked through her own that every so often twitched gently in sleep.

_No, she wouldn't dare move—ever—if it could be helped._

Éponine was just beginning to doze off again when Enjolras's hand squeezed hers, and her eyes immediately reopened. Twisting her head back to meet his, she found the incredibly soft look he bore both serene and all too enticing to ignore. Her breath hitched, and her stomach began to flutter.

"Good morning," she heard him mumble sluggishly against her shoulder; it was so captivating that Éponine nearly forgot to answer.

"Good morning."

Enjolras shifted slightly behind her, though he appeared too tired to move away, and she wouldn't encourage him to do so. After staring at each other for several seconds, Enjolras rubbed a thumb against the hand that he held.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, to which her smile extended.

"Yes, I think I did."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Biting back a sudden wave of nerves, Éponine wiggled her body more fully onto her back and stared into his eyes, so close to hers that she could make out her own disheveled reflection.

"May I kiss you good morning?" she inquired in a tenderly affectionate whisper, which awakened Enjolras from his drowsy state.

"You may," he returned just as quietly.

A fresh smirk crept across his face as Éponine leaned in to capture his lips, their caress warming the atmosphere around them. The kiss was slow and fragile at first but escalated quickly into one of passion and eagerness, a craving to taste ever more of one another. Soon, Éponine's nightgown-clad figure was fully turned around and pressed against his chest, their hands netted around each other.

A sudden knock at the door, however, disrupted everything. Their lips broke apart and both shot up in bed, looking appropriately disheveled with bed hair to match.

"Monsieur? I've brought you a towel and ran your bath for you."

_Molly!_

Éponine found herself gnashing her teeth together as the pair of them tore out of bed, Éponine scrambling for her shawl and Enjolras frantically looking for a way to hide her discovery.

"I'll be right there!" he ordered, snatching Éponine by the arm and motioning her behind the door frame.

At that very instant, the door swung open and Molly stepped inside, unannounced, causing Enjolras to react by shooting her down with a deathly glare. "Oh! Forgive me, Monsieur," she stammered, noting that the strapping gentleman was dressed in nothing but an oversized, V-neck shirt that fell to his mid-thighs. From where Éponine hid in shadow, she could make out his well defined calves. "I - I didn't hear you."

Thankfully, Éponine was well concealed, with Enjolras now gripping the handle to prevent the maid from peeking around the corner. She had to cover her mouth to keep from busting up laughing, however. Between Enjolras's heated glare and the crimson blush he wore, each were enough to break her reserve. Molly's stuttering was additionally amusing, even if she couldn't see the old woman's reaction.

"You should never enter a gentleman's room unannounced," Enjolras hissed at Molly with far less civility than what she was used to; Molly's face easily conveyed her humiliation at her blunder, if it _was_ one at all. "Surely, your employers would've told you that?"

"I, erm, y - yes, Monsieur. I do apologize."

Seizing the towel from her grasp without a word, he stared her down, blocking her from a certain individual hiding beyond the door, crouched and trying desperately not to laugh and thereby give herself away. "That will be all, Molly, thank you."

Molly muttered something under her breath, no doubt a half-arsed apology, when a thought came to her and she spun around. "I'm terribly sorry, Monsieur, but would you happen to know where Mademoiselle is this morning?"

_That_ stopped Éponine's suppressed giggles. She clung to the wall, her heart pounding furiously against her chest. She caught the flicker of anger in Enjolras's eyes, which she sensed would surely be enough to dissuade Molly from bothering him further with her whereabouts.

"I don't know, Molly," he uttered through clenched teeth. "Perhaps she decided to go down early for breakfast. Do you wish to check my personal quarters to put your mind at ease?"

Throwing the door open wider, Éponine panicked, wondering why the hell he would suggest such a thing, until she heard Molly stutter another apology for troubling him and scurry away out of sight. Éponine breathed a sigh of relief as Enjolras shut the door with more force than was necessary.

"That nasty, old hag has it in for you," he issued irritably, his nostrils flaring.

Éponine smiled and closed in on the small gap between them, drawing an arm about his waist. "I daresay she does," she tittered lightly, which brought Enjolras out of his distemper.

"I wish there was a way to get rid of her."

Éponine's eyes flickered. "Don't say that."

Shocked, Enjolras's brow knitted. "Why ever not?"

"Molly's been out of line, to be sure, but she doesn't deserve to be fired. She's trying to _survive_ as much as me or anyone else."

"And yet, she's deceitful and dishonest!"

"That may be so..."

"You're actually defending a woman who tried to tarnish your reputation to our friends?" Enjolras eyed her over, befuddled. "One doesn't _need_ to be deceptive to survive and ruin other people's lives in the process!"

Éponine admired him softly. "I'll give you that," she chuckled, which earned her a less harsh expression from Enjolras. He slowly stepped away from her embrace.

"You had best get back to your room before she goes searching about the house for you."

Éponine resigned with a heavy sigh. "I suppose I should."

Enjolras opened the door and stepped into the hallway to ensure it was safe for Éponine to make her escape. Éponine was somewhat distracted in admiring the man's less-attired ensemble to be overly concerned with Molly. Gesturing that the coast was clear, Éponine, too, tiptoed into the hallway and drew upward to smack him with another passionate kiss on the lips.

Then, the pretty brunette spun on her heel and dashed down the hallway, her lighthearted laughter trailing after her as she disappeared around the corner. Enjolras watched her go with his own quiet amusement and a toss of his head, unaware of the admiring smile he bore for her.

* * *

**A/N #2: I've picked up the pace a little bit with this chapter, but don't assume that I'm going too fast yet. Nothing M-rated is going to jump at you in the next chapter or several. ;) **


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: As always, your reviews and feedback are so appreciated! Please keep them coming! I enjoy hearing your thoughts! I've outlined the rest of this story, and it's looking like it's going to be roughly twenty chapters, so on we go!  
**

**Warning: This chapter contains M-rated material. (But don't get too excited yet!)  
**

******Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 14**

_**"How strange, this feeling that my life's begun at last**_  
_**This change, can people really fall in love so fast?"**_  
_**-Les Misérables**_

* * *

A few weeks had passed since Éponine first slept in Enjolras's bed. What had started so unexpectedly with an innocent gesture of hand-holding had advanced to caressing one another in sleep, so much so that Éponine found herself frequenting—or seeking out, rather—Enjolras's arms as her new source of nightly comfort more than she knew she ought to. And yet, Enjolras never stopped or tried to prevent Éponine from showing up in the middle of the night to wake up to his embrace at the first light of dawn.

Neither questioned their growing attraction, nor her frequent visits to his bed to be hugged and warmed back to sleep. It felt natural and warranted, so both silently accepted the change and tried to behave normally the rest of the time, such as during her studies.

"Do you mind if I ask..." Éponine started one spring morning during a break in her lesson.

Enjolras peered over at her with heightened curiosity, but, evidently, Éponine thought better of whatever her inquiry was and fell silent. The oddity of it brought Enjolras out of his distracted focus. He had been looking over the latest book he had given to her to recite, and laid it down on the table, giving her his undivided attention.

"Yes?" he encouraged, waiting for her to reformulate her question.

Éponine decided it was now or never; the curiosity was killing her, and she was desperate for reassurance. She had made mention of her turbulent past to Enjolras many times in the past two months, relaying the horrible experiences of life as a street rat, scrounging for existence and meaning. Whilst Enjolras never pressed for greater details, it was evident that he despised what she had lived through, including the despicable men who took advantage of her when the unfortunate opportunities arose. It wasn't jealousy for what had been stolen from her that was destined to be his but, rather, a fierce protectiveness, and the notion that he could have stepped in and perhaps prevented such horrors had he sat up and taken notice of her much sooner.

"No, you couldn't have, Enjolras," Eponine would reassure him with a soft, kindhearted smile. "Don't blame yourself, please."

Although she was deeply touched by how warmly he had come to regard her, Éponine was still troubled, and alarmed, by how mute Enjolras generally was about her previous unwelcoming experiences with sex. She concluded that either he didn't want to know the particulars of what happened or was choosing to ignore them, as though the occurrences had never taken place.

_It can't hurt to ask_, she urged herself to speak up, finally mustering the courage to approach him about it that morning; or so was her original plan till she lost her footing. _Even if it is grossly uncomfortable, Éponine, you_ have _to ask..._

"Does it bother you terribly that I'm not..."

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. "Not what?"

When Éponine spoke again, her voice was a feeble whisper, "Not pure..."

The silence stretched out for too long to Éponine, leading her instantly to regret bringing the topic to light; but it really_ was_ an enormously important conversation to have for a couple, was it not? Thus, she waited anxiously for Enjolras's opinion, praying it would be as reasonable as the man had long proved himself to be.

"Not entirely," came his muddled reply, which did nothing to soothe Éponine's nerves.

"'Not entirely'?"

"You didn't exactly have a choice, Éponine; even a gentleman should understand that, especially when considering the unfortunate circumstances in which you were living."

Éponine twisted her hands together in her lap. "But... But doesn't it disgust you," she reluctantly pressed him, "even a little?"

To her utter surprise, Enjolras shot her a wry smirk. "Who should know except for us, and perhaps the Pontmercies? The four of us, along with Monsieur Gillenormand, are the only individuals who know of your background now, Éponine."

"Yes, but _even so!_"

"Do I wish it were different?_ Of course I do._" Enjolras extended his hand out to take hers, and his warm touch had an immediate effect on Éponine; the nauseating knots in her stomach began to uncoil. "I wish a lot of things had been different for you. I despise what they took from you. If I could change the fate of your stars a long time ago,_ I would have._ But then, do I have the right to hold what those men did against you? _No, I don't._ Whatever scruples I have are with _them_, Éponine, not you."

"Enjolras—"

"I know what you're thinking, and it doesn't change how I feel."

Éponine gazed at him in amazement. "How... How is that possible? I've always thought... Well, I figured any man would be appropriately offended, if - if they knew."

"Well," Enjolras returned with his attractive smirk still intact, "I'm not like other inconsiderate gentlemen. I've seen more of_ that_ side to life than others of similar circumstances have. I may not know the wretchedness of the streets like you, Éponine, but I _have_ seen it, and, therefore, have no right to judge your character. You did what you had to do to survive, just as you had to put up with the ugliest aspects of it because you were powerless." He paused to gaze gently into her eyes. "You aren't powerless anymore."

Éponine couldn't quite shake Enjolras's apathetic resolve. "But... It _really_ doesn't bother you? Please, don't be delicate with me, Enjolras, I beg you."

"I'm not being 'delicate' with you, Éponine," he chuckled dismissively. "I hardly know how to be anything but direct."

"Of course you don't," Éponine smiled, utterly grateful and relieved. "Thank you for being so considerate about it. I... I don't know what to say..."

"I understand why you asked. I didn't want to bring it up out of respect for you. I assumed that, should you wish to discuss it further, you would, and in your own time."

The alleviation that washed over Éponine then and there lifted the heavy atmosphere in the room. Projecting another small, generous smile, Enjolras returned his attention to her reading material, leaving Éponine to stare on in disbelief and with an ever deepening appreciation.

_How wrong you were about him, Éponine. So very wrong._

* * *

_His large hand slid down the side of her glorious body, thoughtfully tracing the curve of her hip. His touch was delicate and teasing, his fingers gently mapping their way across all her secret attributes, her buried secrets that lay behind a confined corset and fancy, elaborate fabric. He would worship her body the way he already worshiped her supple lips, her natural glow, her delicate hands..._

_Warm lips caressed her bare skin—the fragility of her neckline down to her protruding collar bone, emitting gasps and soft moans of arousal. Those lips, somehow all-knowing, paused once reaching her breasts to suck on one of her hardened nipples, his tongue swirling deliberately slow circles, wanting to savor her taste in his mouth and hear the moans she tried to suppress. She whispered his name and a shudder of pain, the kind that could only torment a man crippled by sexual desire, shot straight to his groin._

_The reaction was instantaneous. His length erected further, aching to be released from his trousers. 'More, more, more,' his mind growled, echoing a male's primal instinct of lust._

_His hand slipped mindfully between her legs, met by a sweltering heat of moist skin that nearly caused him to lose his head. Her legs spread apart, conveying the matching desire of furious want and need. His curious fingers slid along her opening, between the soft, warm petals to her swollen nub. She immediately squirmed when his fingertip lightly graced her clit. A small cry of sexual torment soon followed once he repeated the motion several times over, undoubtedly imploring that he put her out of her misery._

_Two fingers felt their way into her snug canal, so heated and compressed that he thought he would surely lose control of his senses. She clenched around his fingers and pushed and pulled against them, desperate for his touch to work its magic, to bring her over the edge._

_Heeding her desperate, low moans, he began moving his fingers inside her, thrusting forward and back, teasing and toying in an effort to leave her senseless. Whimpering encouraged him along as he bent over to recapture her mouth. Her thighs withered and thrust as he brought her closer and closer to orgasm._

_"Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!"_ *****_ she rasped, her surging chest pressing against his._

_Finally, her arms snatched him around his back and she broke apart in his hand, coming fast and furious. He felt her clench around his fingers before her legs went limp, as though they were made of nothing and non-attached to the rest of her. There was that beautifully distracted smile on her face that gave him pause, her soft echos of satisfaction hushed, yet captivating to his ears.  
_

_Slowly, he eased his fingers out of her to take in the slick juices left upon his hand that his touch had aroused. When he peered down at her, she was gazing up at him with a passion that left him speechless, her brown eyes hazy and enraptured and her long tresses fanned out over his pillow._

_"Mon Dieu," he murmured, echoing her cries of ecstasy in a hungry whisper, "vous êtes belle..."_ ******

Enjolras jolted out of his wet dream to find one of his hands wrapped around his painfully erect shaft. Cursing the air when it dawned on him that he was alone in his cold bed chambers, he was quickly relieved that Éponine hadn't sought out his company as of yet, or crept into his room unannounced at that moment. Not that he would have turned her away, but the thought of the young lady catching him in the midst of a wet fantasy would have set his teeth on edge.

And yet, he couldn't have been more frustrated at the lack of her much-desired presence. It wasn't just anyone's company he sought in the wee hours of the morning. It was Éponine, as it should be, only there was no denying what his now engorged manhood told him: he craved her—_lusted_ after the brunette beauty—as he had never yearned for anyone before.

The thought of finishing himself off made Enjolras cringe in disgust. Only the warmth that was Éponine would ever satisfying him now.

_Damn it, Enjolras_, he cursed himself a second time. _You're in way over your head now..._

* * *

Enjolras's night terrors were practically gone by the end of spring. Sleeping next to him was confirmation enough for Éponine and left her quite elated for him. Her own nightmares from her past life had also lessened by then.

The only pressing matter that remained for Enjolras, however, was the tremendous underlying guilt he felt over the death of his friends, a weight he continued to carry around with him that was ever present in his eyes, as subtle as it was. And yet, he refused to open up about the experience.

Éponine tried to ignore the man's perceivable struggle, but her curiosity, as well as her deeper affections and desire to help, drove her to finally broach the subject with him one morning over a quiet stroll through Monsieur Gillenormand's garden. Enjolras had been unusually quiet that morning, but Éponine still decided to press him on the sensitive subject anyway.

"Will you tell me now?" she asked softly once they reached a bench, where they stopped to rest and take in the vibrant, blossoming display.

"Tell you what?"

Éponine wasn't fooled. She carefully leaned into him, allowing Enjolras to quietly wrap an arm around her tiny waist and hold her close.

"Tell me what happened?" she urged into his ear.

When the pause between them stretched thin, her dainty hand roamed over his thigh to wind itself through his, encouraging him to speak. With a deep sigh, Enjolras surprised her with his hushed consent. He explained what he could remember: falling out of the two-story window onto a lifeless body, crawling his way to the safety of two unidentifiable women living in one of the upper flats, and being entrusted into the care of a lowly woman who went by the name of Tempeste. Éponine thought the name sounded familiar, but she couldn't put a face to the woman in question. Nevertheless, she seemed a sketchy character to Éponine. According to Enjolras, she referred to herself as a 'witch doctor,' and took care of Enjolras for his first few days...

"Until Monsieur Gillenormand's inquirers tracked me down and brought me here," Enjolras finished, a curl or two of hair hanging in his eyes.

"Do you remember what this woman did to you?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. I drifted in and out of consciousness most of the time. She removed the bullets, Lord knows how, but I quickly developed an infection and a fever. Whatever she did in those early days, though, it worked. By some miracle, I survived."

"And I'm most grateful you did."

Éponine brought his hand to her mouth and kissed it in gratitude. Enjolras watched with unmistakable awe in his face. He soon freed his hand from her grasp and stroked the side of her face, brushing a few long hairs away from her cheek.

"I'm sorry I was so rude to you before."

Éponine's returning gaze was too unfailingly warmhearted to him, and more than he felt he deserved. "No one noticed me then, Enjolras," she offered in kind, neither offended, nor angry. "Not even Marius, as we both well know. I was a Nobody then, merely coming and going; a passing shadow."

"You _weren't_ a Nobody."

"Yes, well, tell that to my parents," she smirked, but Enjolras's continued to regard her seriously.

"You deserved better, Éponine. No one should grow up like that."

"I know, but, well, look where I am now." Éponine took a moment to cheerfully survey the grounds, a true sense of peace washing over her. "I'm a world away from that old life, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are." Enjolras's mouth slumped, his expression still disquieted. "It's unfortunate that it took you're coming here—after the barricade, after everything—for me to see what I was too foolish to notice before."

Éponine's regard turned thoughtful as her warm eyes bore into his. "You forget that it took me coming here to notice you as well, Enjolras."

"That's different."

"No, it isn't!" Éponine snickered before gracing his cheek with a light kiss. "You were busy standing up for people like me, whilst I was busy chasing after someone who would be forever unobtainable to me. I knew it, and yet, I hopelessly kept up my selfish pursuit. I think your excuse far outweighs my own."

"Preposterous," Enjolras retorted, her subsequent giggles tickling his face.

He could feel himself reacting in a manner he shouldn't, and yet, he couldn't seem to dissuade such urges. Her breathy, lighthearted laughter was all it took for the highly guarded revolutionary to lose control of his senses. After showering her with several sensual kisses in return, Éponine snatched the front of his coat, breathing hard with anticipation as she reared back to stare deep into his eyes. He knew the words were on the tip of her tongue, encouraging him to delve further.

"_Touch me, Enjolras_," she begged, her tone both strained and yearning.

Wordlessly guiding one of his hands to her breasts, she gently pressed his touch against her and sharply inhaled, catching the arousing flicker in Enjolras's blue eyes. He unconsciously licked his lips as well.

"Éponine, we shouldn't," she vaguely heard him say, though it sounded more like a groan of need—of an equally desperate desire—than opposition.

The fight within him was clearly not all that strong, and Éponine couldn't stop herself from grinning triumphantly against his lips. His weak refusal brought out her boldness, and, thus, she willfully ignored his plea, and brushed his mouth more fervently with her own, all the while prodding his hands to rove over her body as freely as he so pleased.

Enjolras could feel the electric current running through him at the feel of Éponine's heaving chest, her fervid kisses, the way her fingers eventually made their way to the back of his head, twisting his curls into knots. He would gladly take her over this bench if he didn't regain control of himself, and soon.

_Stop_, his mind commanded, _or you know where this will lead!_

"Éponine, _wait!_"

His urgent order made Éponine hitch a breath, her swollen lips met by the sting of coldness when his mouth abruptly left hers. She couldn't help but glare and was about to spit some angry remark when Enjolras grabbed her forcefully by the shoulders, wishing to be heard.

"We can't," he insisted, sounding as put out as she felt. "_Not yet._"

"But..."

_'Not yet,'_ her mind slowly repeated, remembrance of the fragility of not knowing where they stood coming to light in her mind once more. _What exactly does he mean by_ that_?_

As if somehow reading her mind, he gave her a rather sheepish smile and slid his hands down to link them through hers. "You know how I feel about you by now, don't you?" he asked her in a serious tone.

Enjolras arched an eyebrow, waiting; Éponine nodded her understanding, but there remained a twinge of doubt in her eyes that gave him pause. Eventually, that lack of conviction surfaced on the rest of her face, and she took in a deep breath before pressing him for what she desperately needed to hear.

"Enjolras," she drawled carefully, "do you love me?"

Éponine certainly sensed that he did, but the words had never been officially declared—implied, yes—but never spoken aloud. Éponine couldn't be sure that Enjolras 'wanting' her and 'loving' her where entirely the same connotation. If he meant them in the same context, she would need to hear it from his mouth, and, in that moment, she felt compelled to know with certainty where they stood.

Enjolras's face fell slightly, but he didn't hesitate to return her question with an affirmative nod. "Yes, Éponine, I do. I told you so—"

"You said you wanted me, yes, but..."

The awareness grew on Enjolras's marble features, and, with understanding, came a much gentler whisper that left her breathless. "_Je t'aime_," ******* he declared, his voice soft and subdued.

Éponine's breath stalled, both at the words and the slow, steady smile that Enjolras projected after declaring the words. "Do you believe me now?" he asked quietly.

"I..." Éponine's eyelashes fluttered, her senses overtaken by his tender recognition, and without any hint of a struggle. In that moment, _she finally knew._ "Yes, I do. I believe you."

"And you?" he prodded in return, hanging on how she might return his affections. "Do you love me, Éponine?"

Éponine didn't dither with her answer. "_Oui!_" she affirmed, her heart lifting as she uttered the words aloud and with such feeling. "Je t'aime, Enjolras._ Je t'aime._"

* * *

*** Translation: "_My God!_"**  
**** Translation: "_My God, you are beautiful..._"**  
***** Translation: "_I love you._"**

**A/N #2: This chapter was a lot shorter than I'd intended it to be, but at least things are heating up! :)  
**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: My apologies for the delay. Personal matters have kept me from what I love, and just editing this chapter seemed to take all of my long weekend, so my Muse is struggling. However, it's _finally_ here. **

**In the absence of my regular posting schedule, I've managed to string together a video for this story. The link is on my Profile under Media Content. Feel free to check it out!  
**

******Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 15**

_**"Take my love, for love is everlasting"**_

_**-Les Misérables**_

* * *

The dramatic weather of May arrived and, with it, a reckless combination of rain mixed with sunshine, its decision as to which way the day would turn unpredictable. With the warming of the season, however, also came the increasing heat in Enjolras's and Éponine's relationship, and in a manner that had little to do with the turbulent weather.

Holding hands whilst strolling the house, the gardens or the vibrant upperclass streets of Paris were frequent, arm in arm escorts to more balls and dinner parties were regular, and not only did their courting became a steadfast occurrence in Monsieur Gillenormand's house but it also became public knowledge to the rest of high society as well.

In what had become a ritual of sorts—ambling the length of the house during the mid-morning breaks from her lessons—Éponine and Enjolras grew closer, both mentally and physically, though their nightly bed-sharing remained their own little secret.

One late afternoon following an outing with Cosette to town, Éponine caught up with Enjolras, who was roaming the house without company. After asking Éponine how her afternoon had gone, a gesture Éponine found she appreciated more than he probably knew, she turned the tables on him with a question that had been on her mind for some time.

"How will you teach and support yourself?"

Enjolras eyed her sidelong with his arms latched behind his back. Discussions regarding their futures were still a rare subject, as it seemed neither wanted to jinx the possibility of a future together. Sure, their affections had been established, but life beyond recovery and, eventually, moving forward normally went untouched.

_Then again, Enjolras_, the thought briefly passed him by, _what are you waiting for?_

"I've considered opening a school for the under privileged rather than seek employment through any of the established institutions."

"Are they not up to the standards you seek?"

"No, not at all. They're severely lacking in all manner of supplies and money. I know I could provide better and secure appropriate tutors myself if I were at the reigns rather than at the beck and call of someone else.

"Monsieur Gillenormand and I have been discussing my plans in great detail. I think we may be able to begin preparations as early as the summer."

Éponine smiled warmly at the thought of the stubborn older gentleman having a hand in the matter. "So, he's come around to your decision then?" She had observed the two, along with Marius, on more than several occasions following dinners with their heads huddled in the parlor, outlining Enjolras's plans for the future, whilst she and Cosette sat back and smirked from afar.

"Somewhat," Enjolras returned with an amused, half-cocked smile.

"He cares about you immensely. I suppose he just needed time to understand and see your vision."

"Yes, he did. To Monsieur Gillenormand's credit, he's adapted greatly since his grandson came back into his life."

"You're right, he has. It can't be easy with so much change happening all around him."

"No," Enjolras concurred quietly. "The world he once knew and admired is slipping away. One has to adapt to survive. Change is coming, and he can't sit by and be a spectator forever."

"No, he can't."

"And you?"

Éponine smiled pleasantly up at him. "What about me?"

"What would _you_ like to do with your newfound education?"

"Oh! Well..."

Enjolras fully turned his head towards her. "If you could do anything, what would it be?"

Éponine considered his question thoughtfully; no one had ever bothered to ask her before what _she_ wanted to do with her own life. It had never felt truly hers to begin with, and it wasn't the first time Éponine had shared her aspirations for the future with Enjolras, particularly since admitting their attraction to one another all those months ago; but it still left her breathless to even be asked her opinion, and by a man, when that had never been the case all her life.

After walking in a comfortable silence for a minute or two, Éponine's smile spread across her rose-colored cheeks. "I'd love to help you with your school, actually." Surveying his unanimated, quiet reaction, Éponine continued softly, "I may not be permitted to teach, but I could assist in other ways, if you would allow it of me. I have an extensive knowledge of the city, as you know; I can still recall it like the back of my hand. I know where all the safe havens and refuges are, where the poor can get access to basic provisions and food as I did, when I could. I could supply those in need with resources to help them get back on their feet. What do you think?"

Enjolras paused to think on Éponine's proposal; a glint of awareness and excitement soon illuminated his bright eyes, followed by the rest of his striking features.

"That's a marvelous idea, Éponine! We could surely use someone with your expertise. How had I not thought of it before?"

Éponine grinned broadly as she witnessed the passion and eagerness returning to the gentleman at her side. His hands withdrew from behind his back, his entire body reacting animatedly to her idea.

"Providing a meager education isn't enough. No, not at all. They'll need more than that. You're absolutely right!" He halted their walk to face her head on again, staring down at her with a most appreciative, considerate expression. "I would be honored if you would help me with that, Éponine."

"Really?"

"Yes, _really._"

Éponine's brown eyes lit up like a flame. "In that case, I'd love to!"

"And as a partner," Enjolras added, which made Éponine's feet mold to the ground. She gaped up at him, unsure.

"A partner?" she stuttered. "You mean... _As your equal?_"

"Yes, of course. Why not?"

"But - But I'm a woman," she blurted out before she could stop herself; Enjolras's alluring, robust laughter sent a severe blush trickling onto her cheeks.

"Times are changing, Éponine. You know that. It won't be discrimination and oppression forever. No, wait and see..."

Once more, his statement was an echo of the enthusiastic, liberty driven Enjolras that Éponine remembered, and it brought her further contentedness to hear. How far he had come in nearly a year since the barricade.

_How far we_ both _have come._

Éponine leaned into him, thrilled when his arms came to wrap themselves around her back and tug her close. Locking her hands around his waist, she stretched her neck upward to plant an affirmative kiss on his lips. She soon lost sense of where they were, as the magnitude of their smoldering exchange intensified in seconds.

Hands captured hair, fingers grazed faces, sighs and moans echoed in the empty hallway as their bodies melted into one another's. Éponine was soon pressed against the wall with a jutting knee wedged between her thighs. Her breathing was reckless when she pulled away from him, as was his.

Would kissing the man always be like this, so zealous and arresting and leave her with a throbbing ache she couldn't suppress? Éponine's body yearned for more—_so much more_—and, judging by the simmering look in Enjolras's eyes, their passionate kisses held the same arresting effect on him as well.

"Please..." she found herself whimpering close to his face.

Enjolras's eyes flickered before he leaned in to kiss her again, his tongue slipping inside her mouth as his knee brushed harder against the heat of her sex. "Éponine?" she vaguely heard him utter; his tender whispering of her name sent a tingle down her spine.

His moistened lips soon moved from her mouth to her cheek to capture her jaw line, mapping their way along it slowly, deliberately. Éponine gasped, unable to speak.

"Would you..." he started and then stopped.

"Would I what?" she managed to get out breathlessly.

Enjolras's mouth moved away from her face, and the festering look in his eyes nearly caused Éponine to lose her bearings. "If I made you mine," he murmured, his voice low and a bit breathless, "would you have me?"

"I thought I _was_ yours now?"

Éponine smiled wryly at him and leaned in to capture his lower lip, sinking her teeth in lightly, her eyes locked on his all the while. After matching her smile, he inched his forehead against hers and regarded her seriously.

"Do you know of what I'm asking, Éponine?"

A lump caught in the back of Eponine's throat. The room was suddenly spinning, and Éponine could hardly contain the fast thrumming of her beating heart.

"I... I think so..."

Enjolras's fingers delicately dug into her hips, his chest brushing against her heaving chest. With a tender expression, he affectionately kissed her forehead, and Éponine found herself weightless, willingly leaning into the softness of his lips.

"Then would you have me, Éponine?" came his proposal in an engrossing whisper, as she smiled with her eyes closed. "Would you marry me?"

Slowly, Éponine's eyes opened and peered up into his. Although bereft of words, Éponine was sure of one thing: she wouldn't stop smiling from this moment onward. No matter what obstacles came their way, and she was certain there _would_ be more hurdles to face in their future, she was no longer alone.

_No longer on my own..._

Swallowing against the persistent fluttering in her stomach, Éponine kissed Enjolras again—this time in earnest—before managing to get out a winded "Yes," to his romantic proposal. Their lips extended against one another's, smiling brightly that they had found a future in each other. There was nothing more to be said.

* * *

Molly huffed her way to the kitchens at full speed. Monsieur Pontmercy had informed her earlier that he wished for a particularly lavishing meal to be prepared for that evening's meal, as "some exciting news would be forthcoming." What news, Molly wasn't unsure, though the thought of the Madame Pontmercy's expecting immediately came to mind. She had been tempted to ask Marius outright, but, really, that wasn't her place, no matter how long she had served the family.

After gathering all necessary food and ingredients, Molly took a moment to relieve herself from the kitchen's restraints. She still needed to clean the parlor, and there was also the library that was in need of a good dusting.

Throwing a somewhat clean rag over her shoulder, and with a feather duster in hand, Molly headed out of the kitchen in the direction of the parlor room. She had turned a corner and headed down the hallway when a sight at the opposite end made her halt in her tracks and throw herself against the wall.

Two figures, huddled in shadow, seemed unable to keep their hands off one another, for they were kissing and touching each other's faces excitedly. When the gentleman finally drew back, Molly recognized the pair of them instantly:_ that dangerous Monsieur and damned Mademoiselle!_

How Éponine had managed to stay in the Pontmercies good graces after her disgraceful frequent bedroom trips to Enjolras's room were beyond the grumpy maid's understanding, but she suspected that the freedom fighter had to have possessed a hand in keeping her from getting kicked out on her arse. It was no secret that the two were in love, and time spent at the house had allowed Molly to gather more information about her ill wanted guests.

Enjolras was an upstanding citizen, despite his political associations, but the Mademoiselle was most certainly was not. _That_, in and of itself, was common knowledge to Molly, but the connection she held with the notorious Thernardiers _wasn't_, and most surprising to learn indeed.

Through various lowly sources, Molly learned of Marius's telling them to leave Paris. Whatever threats he had used, they supposedly worked, although the knowledge that didn't run in the lower circles of Paris but was common knowledge now to Molly was that they had never been paid their proper wages for the taking of their daughter.

As Molly inched closer to the couple, making a point of being as discrete as possible, she heard the foolish man's declaration that made her heart thump in her chest. A proposal? Marriage?

_He's a bigger fool than I thought!_ Molly tried not to snigger, watching as they eventually moved away from each other, with the gentleman leading her onward down the hallway by the arm. They soon disappeared, looking as happy and content as could be.

_Not for long_, Molly sneered before disappearing into the parlor with a confident smirk of her own.

* * *

Announcing their engagement to Monsieur Gillenormand and the Pontmercies went over with merry toasting and celebration. Marius and Cosette couldn't be happier for their friends, and Monsieur Gillenormand looked upon their union as adopting "more members into the family!"

"What sort of ring will you take?" Cosette asked eagerly, hitting Éponine with an endless barrage of questions regarding her upcoming wedding for what would turn into the next several weeks.

"I'm not sure," Éponine confessed.

She hadn't really thought much about the actual details of the ceremony until Cosette thrust them at her—the wedding gown, the ring, the church they would choose for the occasion. She and Enjolras only knew of one certainty: they wanted the reception at the Gillenormand estate, perhaps outside in the garden if good weather permitted, and only with close friends and family present. After all, it was where their paths had brought them together, so having the ceremony at the house seemed the only suitable place for it.

As the days trickled by and the wedding plans began to fall into place, Éponine found her mind wandering to the new chapter of her life that awaited her. She had gone from one of the _miserables_ to a Mademoiselle to a fiancé, all within a year.

_How quickly life can change_, she found herself mediating often, joyful at the prospects her new life now afforded her.

After arriving home from a gown fitting, Éponine decided to take in some light reading before reemerging for dinner. A thought suddenly came to her, and she hurried off to her room with an extra skip in her step.

Upon entering her room, she situated herself comfortably on her bed, pulling her knees up in an unladylike fashion to bring a book into her lap that was lying on her end table. She turned it over in her hands and smiled at the cover; she had read its title many times: _Les Liaisons dangereuses._

Éponine opened to the page she had left off at. Ever since Enjolras insisted that she hold onto the book all those months ago, when he first presented her with the opportunity to learn to read and write, Éponine had taken up to trying to read it in her spare time. It took ages, however, because she would truly come to understand the words. It was an art—a practice—she perfected in quiet moments when she couldn't sleep or had time to herself. Enjolras had never inquired after the book, and Éponine was grateful, for she was becoming highly engrossed in the storyline.

_Of course Enjolras would read something like this_, Éponine snorted after she had gotten through several chapters worth. The book was still considered to be "scandalous material" by the whole of France, but that was part of the intrigue, and undoubtedly part of Enjolras's intellectual rebellion. _Seduction, revenge, sex... What's not to like?_ she mused, though the notion that the stern, serious Enjolras—_her_ Enjolras now—liked this sort of tale intrigued (and shocked) her even more.

Parts of the story were deliciously rich, causing an extreme blush to form on Éponine's cheeks. It was in these moments that Éponine would often pause, knowing it wasn't really this gripping story that had her gnashing her teeth together but the thought of her and the handsome Frenchman with golden locks in the throes of ecstasy that the book would trigger.

She had never experienced romantic sex. The unfortunate sex of her youth had been scarring, damaging, and painful on too many levels to count. Admittedly, sex now frightened her a bit. She found herself wondering if the act was always meant to be rushed, harsh, and hurtful. What would _that_ very intimate part of their marriage be like?

_Surely, better than in the past._

Éponine immensely enjoyed kissing the man, for one. His warm lips sent a series of sparks through her body—a flood of heat and energy—she couldn't describe. Surely, that was a sign of their chemistry, and a positive suggestion of what was to come?

_Yes, it_ must _be..._

Slowly, that craving, that unmistakable urge to be fulfilled on a tormented physical plane, started gnawing at Éponine's curiosity. As shying and nerve-wracking as sex was to her, considering that it had never been pleasant—or desired—in the past, she wanted to_ feel_ Enjolras rocking inside her now, to see if those sparks would ignite into full blown fireworks throughout her body.

The sexual tension that had long lingered beneath the surface was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. Holding hands in the middle of the night now wasn't enough. A few times already Enjolras had permitted Éponine to lie with him in bed, but there was a guardedness in those moments that wasn't intimate like it should be. Éponine knew why, only she disliked that it had to be that way at all.

"We _are_ getting married, aren't we?" she would challenge him quietly, to which he would insist that they would be intimate when the time was right.

"I won't take you before we're married, Éponine. It's out of respect for _you_ that I'm doing my utmost best to control myself."

That was most certainly evident a few mornings prior when Éponine awoke to a peacefully slumbering Enjolras laying behind her, one arm draped over her waist and holding her hand, and something else that brushed up against her behind. Éponine went rigid at first but then relaxed and decided it best not to draw attention to Enjolras's morning erection when it was time to disappear back to her room.

"Where are you going?" he mumbled drowsily as she slipped away from the comforts of his warm bed, even though it was not yet dawn.

"I still don't trust Molly," she fibbed, delicately urged Enjolras to go back to sleep, which he did without issue, and tiptoed out of his quarters and back to her own, suppressing a smile all the way.

Éponine didn't want to leave him alone. Far from it. _But if he doesn't want to be intimate with me yet, then he's making it damn hard on us both!_ That morning, Éponine struggled back into her own bed that was appropriately cold and unwelcoming, snuggling into nothing but her pillow and blankets for comfort.

Éponine blinked and drew out of her reflections, feeling a precious, sweltering ache forming between her legs. _Damn it!_ she huffed and quickly gave up on her reading material. _Perhaps a brisk walk will set my mind to right._

Éponine strolled out of her bedroom in haste and trampled down the stairs, walking fast in the hopes of bottling up her sexual appetite once again. _A couple more weeks_, Éponine told herself as she picked up her pace. _Just a couple more weeks._ She couldn't help but wonder if Enjolras was busy suppressing the same urges she was trying so desperately to control, and failing just as miserably.

* * *

**A/N #2: Did anyone remember the elusive book Enjolras gave Éponine several chapters ago?  
**

**Five chapters remain, if I can get them written. I'm about half way there.  
**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Happy Easter! There have been some interesting predictions made by some of you as to what's going to happen in this story. I've enjoyed reading them. ;) Some wonderful fanart has been added to my Profile, so don't miss it! It's a terrific piece from Chapter 5 (which seems to be a favorite?)  
**

**I continue to be wowed and amazed by the response to this story and am _so, so grateful_ to you all for your reviews, recs, favs, and alerts. _Please keep them coming!_ Your responses feed my Muse!  
**

******Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 16**

_**"In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight**_  
_**And all I see is him and me forever and forever"**_

_**-Les Misérables**_

* * *

"You look splendid, my dear," Monsieur Gillenormand commented once the proper veil of intricate lace that trailed to the floor was placed over her head.

Éponine smiled at him through the full length mirror. This was to be her final fitting, and, whilst these appointments were normally reserved for her and Cosette alone, Monsieur Gillenormand had insisted on accompanying the ladies today, which they were all too happy to oblige.

Now that the gown fit properly and the custom-made veil had arrived, the final touches for the wedding were coming together without issue. As Éponine scanned herself thoughtfully before the mirror, her mind wandered, as it so often did, to how much good fortune had come her way. She couldn't quite believe she was standing in an upscale shop she never would have stepped into a year ago, wearing a wedding gown and about to take the plunge into marriage.

_It's really happening_, she reflected excitedly.

Cosette and the dresser, too, were observing the bride-to-be carefully and looking for any errors in the details, Cosette smiling enthusiastically along with Monsieur Gillenormand, who was seated beside her. Éponine was reassured by their matching expressions that _this_ gown was the right choice.

Her satin wedding dress, draped in V-shaped folds and off-the-shoulder short sleeves, was a visual stunner to the eye. The off-white color matched Éponine's dark tresses and skin perfectly, as did the intricate lacing of her veil that Cosette had picked out, as Éponine had been too indecisive and overwhelmed to choose.

Éponine couldn't help but gawk at the sight that stared back at her in the mirror. Was this even her? Even a year later, she hardly recognized herself, clad in something so luxurious and fashionable and visually dazzling to behold.

"Not the little girl from the Parisian slums anymore, are we?" Cosette came up behind her and whispered, her smile kindhearted as she watched her friend take in her appearance.

"Indeed not," Éponine giggled, taking another moment to adjust her veil.

"If Enjolras's mouth doesn't drop to the floor at the first sight of you in this, then he's a fool, my dear," Monsieur Gillenormand nearly growled, causing both young women to laugh.

Éponine's smile spread as she gazed at the hopeful bride before her. _Yes_, she considered warmly, thinking on the handsome gentleman for whom this gown was really for, _Enjolras will most definitely approve of this..._

* * *

"I see you've read it then?"

"I did," Éponine returned, quite pleased with her accomplishment as she handed the book over to Enjolas following a late night dinner. She and her fiancé sat huddled together on the couch, whilst the Pontmercies entertained Monsieur Gillenormand with the latest news from town.

Enjolras looked over the book before arching an eyebrow. "From front to back?" he questioned, to which Éponine snickered.

"Yes, of course! And here you led me to believe it was a law book before I learned to read."

"I never suggested anything of the sort."

"Yes, well, that sly smirk of yours when you insisted I hang onto it now makes perfect sense."

Enjolras's next question, she knew, was carefully placed, even if his eyes were smiling. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Quite," Éponine teased, her cheeks blushing slightly before she nodded towards where the old man sat a few feet away. "But best put it away before Monsieur Gillenormand gets wind of it."

"You think he wouldn't approve?"

Éponine tittered some more. "He's a cheeky man but not controversial, Enjolras, you know that."

The suggestive, small smirk Enjolras gave was one that Éponine was surprised to find had as great an effect on her person now as it had the first time she took notice of it. Her insides fluttered, warmed by his attention and understated affection, even if it was in humor.

"That's true," he concurred and concealed the book from view at his side. He took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb along the inside of her palm. "How did your fitting go this afternoon?"

Éponine's eyes lit up, something Enjolras privately enjoyed. "Very well! The veil turned out splendidly. I'm grateful to Cosette." Slowly, she shifted her eyes towards their intertwined hands. "I... I'm excited for you to see me in it," she added, sensing her fiancé's intense eyes upon her.

Enjolras leaned in close to her face, his breath tickling her ear as he gently informed her, "As am I," which made her heart thrum faster against her chest.

After recovering, Éponine changed topics. "Did you and Monsieur Gillenormand discuss our arrangements?"

"We did." Enjolras leaned back a little to stare into her eyes. "I'm sure you won't be surprised to learn that the old man wasn't pleased."

Éponine frowned slightly and took a moment to admire Monsieur Gillenormand across the room, now expressively instructing Marius on the business of law in a manner that was both comically animated and endearing. She sighed and slowly shook her head.

"I knew he wouldn't take it well."

"He's rather insistent that we stay here in the house."

Éponine angled her head. "And what is your opinion, love?"

"I'm fond of this place, yes, but..."

"You think we should move on?"

Although Éponine had long sensed this change was coming—after all, she couldn't possibly remain a guest in the gentleman's home forever—her heart was still pained by the prospect of leaving. She had grown quite attached to the estate over the past year, as had Enjolras evidently—their fondness having grown even more so by the Pontmercies and Monsieur Gillenormand's warm company. The idea of leaving had begun cropping up in discussion following their engagement, and Enjolras was apparently as torn over leaving as Éponine was. She was privately thankful for that, even if she knew that moving on was inevitable.

"I'm not sure how it would be in our best interests to stay," Enjolras explained quietly, sensing how put out Éponine was and trying not to show it.

"I agree, as difficult as it is to admit."

"I know how much this place has meant to you."

Éponine gazed considerately into Enjolras's eyes, which had turned guilt-ridden and apprehensive. "I'm content to go where you go, Enjolras," she murmured with a soft smile.

"Are you certain of that?"

"Yes, of course I am."

Enjolras's mouth twitched. "I don't wish you to be unhappy is all."

"I couldn't be," she insisted with more feeling and tenderly squeezed his hand. "Not with you."

Enjolras's hardened features eased at her loving sentiment. "Nor I with you, my dear."

"Then it's settled."

"What?" Monsieur Gillenormand suddenly barked from his perch near the fireplace. "Still going on about abandoning us, are you?"

"Monsieur," Enjolras began to protest but was, unsurprisingly, cut off.

"You youngsters nowadays—thinking you've got it all figured out. Well, seeing as you've already gotten a fair taste of the world and all the _remarkable_ qualities it has to offer, I'm surprised the pair of you would be so quick as to run out on me."

"Oh, Monsieur," Éponine implored in kind, giving him a gentle smile, "we're doing nothing of the sort—"

"Ultimately, it makes no difference," Monsieur Gillenormand pressed on through a determined growl. "Marius and I were just discussing the matter today. In fact," he turned to his grandson with that familiar twinkle of conspiring in his eyes—a look that Marius duplicated—which made Enjolras warily draw back, "what did we decide on, Marius?"

Marius, amused, regarded their friends with a triumphant smile. "That you both stay here with us. Permanently."

Enjolras blinked. "What?"

"If you're absolutely insistent on making your own way in the world rather than taking my generosity for what it's worth," Monsieur Gillenromand explained, his features stern and resolved, "then you may pay me a meager rent fee that will be used as equity in owning a portion of the estate, the amount of which _I_ will determine and deem appropriate."

"Which would be next to nothing," Enjolras argued quietly, and for which Monsieur Gillenormand and Marius ignored him.

"You would be given the larger guest quarters on the opposite side of the house on the first floor. It's quite extensive and I think would suit you better once you're married."

"We would hire a second maid for your needs," Marius added, his smile waning a little. "Seeing as how Molly has been let go, you needn't worry any longer about her. We'll seek our own maid for the three of us."

"If_ that_ won't entice you to stick around," Monsieur Gillenormand interjected, "then, I'm afraid, Marius and I are out of clever ideas."

Enjolras and Éponine stared on in shock and appreciation, although Enjolras couldn't prevent narrowing his eyes at both men, glancing from a driven-looking Monsieur Gillenormand to a confident Marius and back again. There was no mistaking the mischievousness in their faces, much to his personal displeasure, even if he _was_ secretly touched by their offer.

"You two have been plotting to keep us here for some time, haven't you?"

"Naturally!" came Marius's victorious-sounding reply.

Monsieur Gillenormand met Enjolras's skepticism with a persistence all his own. "Surely, you didn't think we would let you both go so easily?"

Deeply touched by the old man's sentiments, Éponine couldn't help but grin enthusiastically. The idea was perfect and appeased the ache in her heart.

Eager to resolve the matter, she compressed Enjolras's hand and peered over at him with hope and longing in her countenance that made disputing the offer difficult for her husband-to-be. Taking in her reaction, Enjolras found himself caving into the young lady's wishes.

"Monsieur, you've already been so kind to us—" he started, but the elderly gentleman adamantly waved away his compliment.

"Spare me," he quipped, the glimmer in his eyes still present. "You're to soon officially become extensions of my family, as far as I'm concerned, and I, Marius, and Cosette _want_ you to stay with us. This is where you belong;_ it's your home now._ Will you accept my offer, if nothing else but to appease a poor, lonely old man in his autumn years?"

Enjolras shared an understated exchange with Marius, who was doing his best to suppress his laughter at his grandfather's humorously overt goading. Enjolras turned to the brunette at his side and her open expression of want was vividly clear. It wasn't at all like Enjolras to accept charity, even if he knew this was something else entirely: it was sentimental, and the sense of belonging the exiled freedom fighter and his former _miserable_ experienced in that moment was acute.

Enjolras sighed and offered Monsieur Gillenormand the most reserved scowl of appreciation he could muster. "You're most gracious, Monsieur."

"Is that as close to a resigned 'yes' as I'm to expect?"

Éponine broke out into giggles and prodded Enjolras's side, thereby bringing out a more amenable expression from the man. "Very well," he finally agreed, though his voice was slightly muffled.

That was all the rest of the household needed to hear. Requesting that a bottle of wine be brought into the parlor to celebrate, Monsieur Gillenormand proceeded to boast over the good news, and to no one's distemper. They merrily toasted the couple and continued chattering excitedly about their permanent stay in the home.

Éponine settled in next to her accommodating fiancé, who still appeared slightly torn over the matter, but the high regard he bestowed for their friends was obvious. She, too, surveyed him fondly for the rest of the evening.

* * *

Enjolras detected the door opening, though he was already half dozing by the time Éponine decided to sneak into his room. It had become an almost nightly affair in the weeks leading up to their nuptials, and the will _not_ to touch one another in a manner that could quickly escalate things to something beyond either of their control was tempting, if not maddening, and difficult to avoid.

Tonight, Enjolras was content to fall back asleep, however, though his mouth crept into a faint smile when he heard some muffled shuffling near the bed, followed by the familiar feel of Éponine's petite frame drawing back the sheets and sneaking into bed beside him. She was evidently trying not to wake him, thinking he was already asleep; but the feel of several long hairs brushing against his shoulder, followed by a pair of dainty arms weaving themselves around his midsection would have woken him, regardless. The penetrating heat of their entangled limbs was more than enough, especially on such a hot summer's eve.

"Are you asleep?" Éponine whispered after a moment or two, her breaths tickling the nape of his neck.

"Almost," Enjolras mumbled sleepily into his pillow, making her titter and snuggle closer. He didn't object or push her away.

"I'm sorry."

The window was open to allow a welcoming breeze into the room. The cool air felt divine against their skin as they started to doze off; or, at least, Enjolras was nearly there. However, Éponine lay fully awake at his side, pondering their upcoming wedding amongst other happy fortunes that were falling into place, including the very real notion that they wouldn't be leaving the Gillenormand estate any time soon. Not only would they continue to have a roof over their heads, but they would staying _here_, a place that had been their home for some time, though neither had ever wanted to call it such.

Enjolras was on the verge of unconsciousness when Éponine's small voice broke the stillness, startling him out of his doze. "Thank you," she offered unexpectedly.

"For what?" Disoriented, Enjolras's eyelashes fluttered before crashing shut.

"For agreeing to stay. I... I'm glad to not be going."

"I know you are."

"Are you content to stay, though?" She paused, anxiously waiting on his answer. "I don't want _you_ to be unhappy either..."

That brought Enjolras around. He shifted his legs beneath the sheets, allowing Éponine to wedge hers further in between. It felt somewhat strange to be so intimate, and yet, to not have taken things any further; but the couple took what warm comforts they could from each other now, fully aware and anticipating what was to come as their wedding drew nearer. It was now only days away.

"I'm not unhappy, Éponine," he insisted, feeling her upper body ease into his with relief.

"You're certain?"

"Of course." He strained to turn his head and make out her face in the darkness. "Why? What's troubling you?"

"Nothing, I... I just don't want you to feel obligated is all. I know you wanted to move on and start over—"

"Éponine," he smirked at her visible uncertainty, finding it quite childlike and captivating, "go to sleep, would you?"

Before she could say anything else, Enjolras lightly captured her lips and twisted about under the sheets to face her. Éponine scooted closer and nudged herself comfortably against his chest, her arms draped around him as he sought to bundle her in his arms.

Éponine sighed contentedly. It wasn't long before they were both sleeping soundly, with no nightmares or past transgressions to haunt them—not whilst burrowed complacently into each other's snug embrace.

* * *

_What a day!_ Éponine reflected as she and Cosette climbed down from their horse-drawn carriage, returning home from more preparations for the wedding. Éponine mainly allowed Cosette to take charge of the details, finding the picking of the bouquet or decorations for the ceremony too tedious to decide on.

_They're just going to wither and die_, she considered with a shrug, reserving her opinions for herself. _Besides_, she concluded happily, _Cosette's much better at this sort of thing._

Enjolras had joined them to take part in some of what he also considered to be "tiresome" planning, and did so only to appease his future wife. Following their meeting, he went on to Monsieur Gillenormand's law firm with Marius to discuss preparations for the school he intended to open in the fall. Locations had been scouted, and Enjolras had settled on a building not far from the former old ABC café, which surprised Éponine when he broke the news to her days earlier. She couldn't help but shudder at the unsettling sense of irony about it all. As long as Enjolras was content with the decision, however, Éponine wouldn't dissuade the man or the dreams he had in mind.

Éponine and Cosette retreated to the dining area, where Molly was busy setting the place for dinner. She looked more than a tad flustered by the ladies' unexpected intrusion when they strolled in unannounced.

"The men won't be back for at least another hour or two, Molly," Cosette reassured the baffled-looking maid. "In the meantime, we'll take some tea, if you please."

"Certainly, Madame."

Molly bowed and scurried out of the room, leaving the two ladies to themselves. She didn't even eye Éponine crossly as she usually did, something the Mademoiselle was rather thankful for. Though the two didn't clash as much these days, an unmistakable tension still hovered in the air whenever they came in contact with each other. The uneasy tension was sorely felt by the Pontmercies and Monsieur Gillenormand as well. Éponine noticed that Molly paid her far less mind than she once had when it became apparent to her friends, and she was also grateful for their subtle methods of dealing with the matter, whatever they were.

Dinner would later pass by in its normal fashion, though much of the talk revolved around wedding plans and Enjolras's dreams for his new school. Éponine would chime in with her own views now and then, appreciative of Enjolras routinely seeking her opinion or approval on matters she normally wouldn't have been allowed to speak on.

_Not in my old life_, she pondered cheerfully. _Then again, that's Enjolras._

Throughout dinner, Éponine couldn't stop herself from happily reflecting on the wonderfully passionate man she was about to marry. She never expected to find herself in a marriage based on equality rather than that of the woman's submissive role as the housewife and mother. She couldn't have been more pleased or appreciative of the gentleman at her side, who not only clearly respected her person but valued her mind and ideas.

As they all headed into the parlor following dinner, Éponine was interrupted from her thoughts by Tom, who approached her and Enjolras as they were about to enter the parlor with the rest of their party. "Pardon me, Mademoiselle," he apologized with a formal bow, looking a bit shaken, "but you have an unexpected caller at the door. He appears to be a rather...unfortunate gentleman."

"Unfortunate?" Enjolras questioned, his brow furrowed.

"He's unpresentable, Monsieur, which is why I haven't let him in."

Enjolras and Éponine exchanged bewildered looks. "Who is it?" she inquired with heightened curiosity.

"I'm afraid he wouldn't say; he was rather reluctant to give his name. He only said that it was a matter of urgency and that he needed to speak to you, Mademoiselle."

"Did he ask for me by name?"

"Yes."

To Enjolras, the man in question, whomever he was, wasn't enough to entice him to allow Éponine to be led away from their party. He wove an arm around her back and started to draw her away to rejoin the others.

"Tell him that it's late and that my fiancé is otherwise engaged," he insisted, but Éponine gently took his arm.

"If it's urgent, I should probably see who it is, shouldn't I?"

"I don't see why, especially if the gentleman won't give his name."

"I don't believe he's a gentleman at all, Monsieur," Tom spoke up, appearing more than a tad unsettled.

Eponine's curiosity increased tenfold, along with her apprehensions. Someone from her old life...

_Here? Who could it be?_

"I'll come and see for myself," she replied, to which Enjolras stiffened.

"Then I'll come with you."

"It's fine, Enjolras," Éponine giggled at his seriousness and shrugged off his efforts. "Don't bother. I can handle myself. Whoever it is, maybe they need something, and if I can help... I'll just be a moment."

Enjolras wasn't appeased but politely did as Éponine asked, retreating into the parlor and shutting the door behind him. Tom silently escorted her to the entryway, where he then bowed and took his leave to give her privacy with whoever was waiting for her.

The door was slightly ajar but obstructed Éponine's view of the unknown visitor in question. Éponine approached the door with caution, unsure as to who it could possibly be, and could only pray that her instincts were wrong.

As Éponine opened the door, she nearly collapsed to her knees right then and there. She threw her hand over her mouth to prevent herself from losing her nerve. An enormous sense of dread swept over her and she nearly crumbled against the door frame at the sight of the person standing before her.

A grimy, rough-looking older man with bristling hair, a beard, and unsettling, dark eyes stared back at her, abrasive and unhinged. His scent smelled appallingly of piss and sewage, his clothes were nothing but filthy rags, and he was missing several teeth. The devilish smile that emerged on his black-soiled face was enough to cause Éponine to whimper. In that moment, all contentment was lost, replaced by darkness and trepidation.

"'ello, sweetheart," he greeted with mocked sincerity. "What's the matter? Aren't you pleased to see me again?"

He anticipated her slamming the door in his face before she could do so and snatched her by her face, dragging her out of the entryway with a forceful pull she was physically too weak to fight. He slammed her hard against the wall and threw a hand over her mouth to keep her from crying out.

"You listen here, my little hussy, and you listen good. The party's over. You're goin' to do what I tell you or face the consequences, and, believe me, that ain't somethin' you want."

* * *

Enjolras sat in the parlor room twirling his glass of wine in hand when Éponine crept inside. He immediately zoned in on her hand, which appeared to be nursing her jaw. He flew out of his chair and reached her before she had barely stepped through the doorway.

Monsieur Gillenormand and the Pontmercies peered over at her curiously. "Who was that, my dear?" the old man asked, glancing at her over his shoulder.

"No one of importance, Monsieur."

Enjolras detected the quiver in her voice, as well as the fear in her eyes that she was trying to subdue, but when he opened his mouth to ask, she instantly shut him down. "Please, not now," she whispered, keeping her voice too low to be overheard.

Enjolras narrowed his eyes, bewildered. "Who was it?"

"No one important."

"Éponine, you're—"

"_It's nothing._"

The anger mixed with confusion started to manifest in Enjolras's eyes. He took her by the arms and tugged her close, noting how she grew alarmingly skittish to his touch and tried to wiggle free.

"What on earth is the matter?" he pressed with more urgency.

"I - I'm sorry. I have a headache. I don't feel well and would like to lie down."

Overhearing her wishes, Cosette started to rise from the couch. "Éponine, are you all right? You're looking a little pale."

"I'm not well, no. I – I think I'll retire for the evening.

"_Éponine!_" Enjolras called after her, but she flew out of the room before he could prevent her escape.

"What one earth just happened?" Monsieur Gillenormand demanded in amazement. Marius, too, had shot off the couch at Éponine's visible distress, all of them staring after the spot that she disappeared.

"I should go try to speak to her," Enjolras responded, more to himself than to any of them. He started to leave the room when Cosette unexpectedly called him back.

"I wouldn't, Enjolras. She's clearly upset and wishes to be alone. Let her be."

"But—"

"She's received a shock; best to give her some time to get over whatever's troubling her. I'm sure she'll tell us in the morning."

Enjolras, torn between staying or going, stared at the door, as if trying to will Éponine to reappear. Whatever had just happened, she was clearly distraught, so much so that she couldn't speak to him about it.

_What the hell was_ that_ all about?_

* * *

Éponine didn't come to him that night. There were several times Enjolras considered going to her room, banging on the door, and requesting that she let him in; but such behavior was a folly, not to mention untoward. He would have to wait till morning.

Not that _that_ ensured him a solid night's rest. Spending the night alone in bed made Enjolras keenly aware of how much better he truly rested with Éponine next to him. He tossed and turned, eventually staring out the window and giving up on sleep altogether. He hoped he might hear one of Éponine's nightmares, as that would prompt an excuse for leaving his room to seek her out, but such said wishes were never granted, and a sound never echoed down the hall to cause him to stir.

With a burdensome sigh, Enjolras rolled onto his side away from the window after a time and curled up into a fetal position. No, she definitely wasn't visiting tonight. Enjolras closed his eyes and tried to clear his head, though there seemed little point in trying. Éponine—his fiancé—consumed his thoughts, and with good reason. Tonight, however, they were plagued by angst and confusion rather than their usual peace and serenity.

Finally, Enjolras's mind grew weary and caved in to sleep at last. As his mind drifted into a state of unconsciousness, Enjolras was vaguely aware of a few subtle noises during his few blissful hours of slumber. He thought he identified a door opening and closing, though he was too far gone to open his eyes. He never sensed her crawling into bed beside him, so, later, he had to assume it hadn't actually occurred. He also suspected a light brush to his forehead—something warm and soothing that touched his skin, like a loving kiss. One of _her_ kisses.

No, that must have been in his head, too.

Later that morning, as Enjolras strolled down the hallway to the staircase that led to the first floor, he paused and apprehensively eyed Éponine's bedroom, more than a little tempted to knock on her door, if only to ensure that she was all right. He lingered for much longer than he realized, but, eventually, his legs quietly descended the steps.

Enjolras prayed he might find Éponine already up and at breakfast, seeing as he was off to a bit of a late start himself after staying up half the night worrying. To his dismay, however, she was nowhere to be found when he made his appearance.

Besides Éponine's lack of presence, something else was troubling when he entered the room. Monsieur Gillenormand was seated at the head of the table like always, though the Pontmercies were both standing nearby where their backs to him. They were huddled close together and whispering excitedly when the blond gentleman came walking in. His presence caught their attention. Marius stepped aside to reveal a distressed-looking Molly, who was wringing parts of her apron together in her hands and was on the verge of tears.

Enjolras's eyes swept over the distraught faces of those before him, all paler than normal. His heart thumped too quickly, especially once Marius made his way towards him, the visible panic evident in his friend's brown eyes. Marius leaned in close and took Enjolras firmly by the arm.

"Enjolras," he issued in a frantic whisper, "Éponine's gone."

* * *

**A/N #2: Was some of this plot predictable? Probably. But hopefully I've woven in a few surprises for you to come. **

**_And yes, there is a reason Molly is still around _(since a couple of you asked.) You'll get an explanation in the next chapter. **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Already had this written, so it just needed tweaking and editing. Thanks for all your angsty responses to the last chapter. Hopefully this one delivers...  
**

******Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 17**

_**"I am reaching, but I fall**_  
_**And the night is closing in**_  
_**As I stare into the void**_  
_**To the whirlpool of my sin"**_  
_**-Les Misérables**_

* * *

"_What?_"

It was the only logical word his mind could grasp. Enjolras blinked a handful of times, soaking in Marius's panic with his own unnerving shock and dismay.

_Éponine gone? Impossible!_

"Molly here just informed us," Marius gestured towards the frightened maid, who turned a shade redder when her eyes met Enjolras's, fierce and manifesting with a suppressed rage she had never witnessed before, "that gentleman who came here last night and gave Éponine such a turn..."

"You know who he is," Enjolras spoke directly to Molly, and it was a statement rather than a question, laden with underlying danger in his tone of voice.

"Y - Yes, sir," she stammered quietly, unable to meet his hardened gaze any longer.

"_Who was it?_"

Molly began chewing on her bottom lip before the knowledge came tumbling out of her. "It - It was Thernardier, sir, Mademoiselle's father. He - He got wind that his daughter was staying with Monsieur Gillenormand and about to be married to - to a gentleman."

Enjolras's hands balled into fists at his side. "And pray tell, where would he have 'gotten wind' of such news?"

Molly's eyes shifted uncomfortably to the ground, the guilt plainly etched on her nervous-ridden expression. "Me, sir," she softly acknowledged, keeping her eyes intently on the floor. "I... I heard that the Thernardiers had returned to Paris, so I... I sought them out and told them she was here."

"_Why, Molly?_" Marius asked, exasperated. "Why on earth would you tell them such a thing?"

"Be - Because I'd been quarreling with Mademoiselle, Monsieur, and I thought that—"

"_No_," Enjolras cut in, his voice freezing the air like a sheet of ice, "you weren't quarreling, Molly. _You wanted her removed from this house._"

Monsieur Gillenormand and the Pontmercies scanned Molly suspiciously, as well as with flickers of horror on their faces. Though the maid had been let go, it was still disheartening for them to take in.

Molly quickly looked up and furiously shook her head. "No, Monsieur," she tried to insist, though she was visibly trembling. "No, no! That's untrue!"

"You've wanted her gone from the start!" Enjolras's voice rose with an anger unbeknownst to the others, even Marius; it was the dangerous side to the freedom fighter he hadn't displayed in his friend's presence before, and the result caused Molly to startle where she stood and take a step backward. "Don't deny it, Molly! You sought every opportunity you could to get her out of this house! She was nothing if not polite to you, even as you threatened and interfered with her daily life here!"

"Molly?" It was Cosette who spoke up this time, though her sweet voice was considerably calmer than Enjolras's. "Tell him why you returned to us this morning. At the very least, Enjolras deserves to hear your remorse himself."

When Molly met one of her former employer's faces, she couldn't disguise her shame, nor the long-buried truth of the situation. Slowly but surely, she nodded her head in compliance and resumed her eyes on the floor.

"I'm sorry, Madame, Monsieurs," Molly offered through a quivering reply, though it did nothing to shake Enjolras's stance and brewing fury. "I conspired against Mademoiselle. I came here this morning in the hopes that there might still be time to..." She sucked in a breath. "To get her back before it's too late."

_'Before it's too late.'_

The words rang in Enjolras's ears like the chaos of the falling barricade. His heart beat furiously against his chest; he could feel his lungs constricting and robbing him of air as he stood there, helpless and at this maid's mercy.

"Where did she go?" he hissed at her like a coiling snake. "Where did he take her?"

"To - To where they're residing now, Monsieur."

"Which is?"

"I..."

Molly shifted her weight back and forth, her hands still knotting around the fabric of her soiled apron. Why she wore it Enjolras knew not. Though Monsieur Gillenormand and the Pontmercies had allowed Molly to stay on for several more days following her termination so that might have time to seek other employment, she had finally left them the previous night.

_Her timing couldn't have been better planned_, Enjolras all but growled aloud, piecing together her less-than-sincere apology.

That was it for Enjolras. In two or three strides, he was directly in front of Molly, who turned skittish and tried to rear back but to no avail. Her attempt was met with a wall and a ferocious Enjolras in her face. Her mouth fell open when he pressed her shoulder hard, his piercing blue eyes boring into hers as though they might burn her retinas straight through to the back of her head.

"_Where is she?_" he demanded again, no longer holding back his hostility. "_WHERE?_"

Molly stuttered out an address on the outskirts of town, which Enjolras mentally memorized and then took off at full speed, his hasty steps followed closely by Marius and Cosette. Both were begging him to halt.

Once he reached the front door, Enjolras finally spun around to face his frantic friends. "I must beg to make use of your carriage, Madame," he spoke urgently to Cosette. "It will make the journey much faster than on foot, and time is of the essence."

"_Are you mad?_" Marius interrupted, closing in on Enjolras before he could move. "You can't go _there!_ It's the slums, Enjolras; the very worst of Paris! You'd be robbed and pillaged before you took a single step onto the street! You can't possibly—"

"And what would you have me do?" Enjolras shook off Marius's firm hold upon his coat. "Not go after her? _You're_ mad, Marius, if you think for one moment that I'm going to simply let her go—"

"I meant that you shouldn't go _alone!_" Marius seized Enjolras roughly by the shoulder instead. "I'm coming with you." He lowered his voice, as if to keep his wife from overhearing. "We'll need ammunition," he added under his breath, to which Enjolras attested with a resolute nod.

Marius quickly exited off to the right, leaving a rankled Cosette where she stood, twisting her hands together and her eyes darting back and forth between both young men, her expression pleading and afraid for the pair of them. Enjolras reached out and gently took her arm.

"Please, Enjolras," she whispered, exasperated. "Haven't you both been through enough?"

"And what of my fiancée?"

"I want her back as much as you do! Believe me, I _want_ Éponine rescued from that horrible place! But, surely, there must be another way!"

"The Thernardiers won't stop unless _we_ stop them. You remember them well, I'm sure, and what they're capable of. You _must_ understand that?"

Although he could see Cosette internally wrestling with what was happening before her panic-stricken eyes, eventually, she complied with a weighty sigh and a frown. By that point, Marius had returned with several loaded pistols in his hands. Cosette jerked out of Enjolras's grasp.

"Please, love!" she begged, but Marius leaned in and kissed her cheek.

"If we aren't back within the hour, Tom will bring back the carriage and send word."

Cosette stood, paralyzed, watching the two gentlemen hoist their guns and check them for maltriggering, two for each. Determination and an unsettling lack of fear loomed in their eyes; or, at least, for one of them: Enjolras. It was eerily reminiscent of the barricades and what they had bravely faced in that dreary Parisian alleyway, so much so that, for a moment, Cosette couldn't speak, let alone process what was happening.

"But..."

After readying themselves for the task ahead, Marius leaned into his wife and, again, kissed her, only more gently. "We'll be back," he assured her quietly. "Don't tell Grandfather. Let him think we've gone to fetch her, but nothing more."

"_Oh, please be careful!_"

Enjolras and Marius stormed out of the house, leaving the door wide open and a stranded Cosette hanging by the doorway, watching them go with her heart beating hard as drums. "_Merde!_" ***** she cursed before she could stop herself. She instantly covered her mouth with her hand, shocked that she had cursed, and was grateful no one was nearby to hear.

* * *

Enjolras and Marius maneuvered their way through the dirty, dank streets that stunk of the worst combination of piss and poor hygiene either of them had ever smelled. It assaulted their nostrils, and it wasn't even a half hour of stopping at virtually every food stand or open window or open doorway that their knee-high boots were soiled and covered in what was surely others' relieves.

Marius every so often grimaced in disgust, but Enjolras carried on, the maddening in his eyes festering the closer they came to locating Éponine's whereabouts. She was his only thought in mind, and he had everything to lose if this went badly. He _had_ to reach her. He _had_ to get to her before something dreadful happened.

Plenty of folks scattered and divided as the two established gentlemen marched through the city streets, though it had more to do with their visibly loaded weapons than their determined strides. They still cut an intimidating sight, however, particularly Enjolras, who looked like a wildfire about to spread through the ghetto and set every house aflame.

Neither expected to come across men in uniform or of the law, and, thus, carried on foot, their pistols at the ready. None of the army ventured to these parts, that much was certain, and the two educated individuals used that to their advantage.

"How do you suppose he got to her?" Marius had asked on their way to this lowly part of the city.

"Probably threatened her," Enjolras answered with a curled upper lip. His fists hadn't unknotted since receiving news of her abrupt departure. "Éponine's too selfless to consider her own safety before that of others."

"_That_ we can agree on," Marius morbidly concurred.

"This_ will_ get ugly, Marius, you know that," Enjolras stated frankly once they had instructed Tom to wait for their return by the carriage within the hour.

"I know."

"If anything should happen to me—"

"Don't start, Enjolras!"

"_I mean it!_ If anything should happen to me, take Éponine and go. Don't hesitate. Don't look back. Get her to safety. _Get her home._"

"If you insist."

"_I command it!_"

"Fine, fine, if you command it!" Marius tried to play off his friend's demands, but his nerves were clearly getting the better of him.

It had taken them nearly a half hour to locate her whereabouts, and now they stood outside a debauched house. The roof was caved in, the windows were boarded up, and not much of anything in its wretched state would convey to others that it was occupied. At first, Marius had questioned whether they were, in fact, at the right house, but Enjolras's torpid expression told him it probably wasn't worth the effort to argue or second guess.

_Yes_, Enjolras thought fleetingly, _this is exactly the sort of shambles she'd be hidden away in._

Enjolras approached the front door with fresh perseverance. Marius, on the other hand, kept his eyes alerted to their surroundings, noting a couple individuals in higher flats who were peering out of their windows at the undoubted spectacle the two were making, aware of what was about to ensue, if their pistols were anything to go by.

Enjolras banged on the front door and was greeted by a gruff of a noise inside. _What utter fools to have their windows boarded up_, Enjolras considered as the door crept open, and a homely, mad-looking woman poked her head out at them, scanning their impressive figures up and down with pieces of mangy hair falling into her eyes.

"Can I help you, Monsieurs?" she asked with evident suspicion.

Enjolras stared her down with all the intimidation he could muster. It didn't take much.

"We're here for Éponine."

"_Oh, no you don't!_" she half screamed, half gasped, finally recognizing Enjolras from the barricade. She proceeded to slam the door shut, but not before Enjolras managed to slip a boot through the door frame.

"Where is she?" he growled, attempting to push the door wider with his elbow as she fought his efforts.

"You can't have her!"

"She isn't yours to keep!"

"She wasn't Monsieur Gillenormand's to give away!" she barked back.

Marius thrust an arm around his friend and pointed his pistol directly between her eyes. She stilled to the quick and whimpered at looking down the barrel of a loaded gun.

"Let us in," he demanded, the pair of them watching her eyes go wide with fear, "or we'll blow your fucking head to smithereens!"

"You - You couldn't! You - You wouldn't!"

"_I would_," Enjolras whispered so low that his voice barely registered. Using his free arm, he, too, pointed his pistol at her head.

"_I'm her mother!_" she gasped, her voice beginning to quiver.

"And unworthy of her all the same!" came Enjolras's enraged reply. "Let us in, or so help me, I won't hesitate to shoot you dead on your doorstep!"

Fretfully afraid of the freedom fighter making good on his threat, as well as his piercing glare that told her the man would do what he promised, she stumbled backwards, allowing them free access to pass through to a cramped kitchenette and sitting area that boasted of only a small wooden table and four lopsided chairs.

Keeping their guns pointed at the grim-ridden woman, Enjolras demanded to know where Éponine was, to which she wordlessly pointed upstairs. "Take us to her," he ordered.

"But..."

"_NOW!_"

That prompted the deceitful woman to move. She scurried up the stairs, trailed closely by Enjolras and Marius, into another cramped bedroom that, at present, contained no furniture; not even a bed. Enjolras made a quick scan of the banged up floorboards and dreary atmosphere, and the eyesight of three heavyset men came into view on the opposite end of the room. The one in the center turned around, as if he had been staring down at something, and squinted at he and Marius in the darkness. Immediately, he recognized Enjolras's younger friend, and his eyes went as large as saucers.

"_You!_" he hissed, which Marius uttered at the same time.

"I told you to leave Paris and never return!" Marius shouted, his anger boiling over. Enjolras wove an arm in front of him to command that he stop speaking.

"I came back to claim something that was mine," the man, undoubtedly Éponine's father, retorted with a smug, near toothless smile.

"_She isn't yours!_" came Enjolras's growl, which earned him ruffled comments from all three men. His wife ventured off to the side and tried to cross her arms, but it was obvious she was still quite frightened of them.

"Who claims her?" Thernardier asked, stepping forward. He was a large oaf of a man with cruddy rags for clothing and a scruffy beard to match.

"You know who he is," his wife snipped under her breath.

Enjolras still straightened, however, and offered his name, to which the two men at Thernardier's side snickered wickedly. Thernardier, meanwhile, judged Enjolras up and down with a critical eye and a thoughtful rub of his chin. Finally, he placed his hands on his hips, and, despite the loaded guns the two younger men held in hand, he turned up his nose defiantly at them.

"You can't have her."

Enjolras sucked in a breath. "What do you want for her?"

"She ain't for sale!"

"You have no right to keep her!"

"_I'm her father!_" he snarled like a wild animal.

"Be that as it may, she's _engaged_ to me!"

"And yet, I never gave you permission to have her!"

Enjolras raised his arm and the two men drew back a step or two, showing signs of fear in their dirty faces for the first time. "Too late," Enjolras threatened through clenched teeth. Marius stepped forward as well with one loaded gun aimed at the men and the other at Éponine's mother.

Thernardier gave a snort that surprised Enjolras and Marius. "I'd lower those guns, if I were you."

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

Glancing between the two of them, Enjolras saw the panic start to take shape on Thernardier's face at long last. He was naturally blushing and biding his time but was at a loss being unarmed, as were his defenseless friends.

In one swift movement, Thernardier scurried out of view, pushing one of his thugs forward to reach for something behind them. Both Enjolras and Marius reacted instantaneously and sent warning shots blasting through the walls. Mrs. Thernardier screamed and crouched low to cover her face, whilst the two body guard-like figures froze in place with their arms raised in surrender.

Then, Enjolras caught sight of shuffling behind them and spotted a wide-eyed Éponine with a grubby hand covering her mouth and a sharp knife pressed to her throat. Thernardier bore him a foul, triumphant grin that spread from ear to ear.

"Put down the pistols, boys," he boisterously laughed, and for which his pals joined in. His wife slowly emerged from her protective ball on the floor.

"_Let her go_," Enjolras ordered, trying to keep his voice steady; the sight of Éponine in harm's way, however, made his heart pound.

Thernardier spit at him from across the room and shouted a defiant, "_No!_"

"We have guns pointed at your head, man!" Marius exclaimed, confounded by the fellow's foolish defiance.

"And I've got nothin' to lose anymore!" he spat back, digging the blade into Éponine's skin. She winced and whimpered in pain, her frightened eyes locked on Enjolras's.

Enjolras witnessed his woman in distress, trying frantically to communicate to him to desist with just a look. She shook her head as much as she could, despite her father's firm grip and the knife against her neck, ready to draw blood.

Enjolras turned his worried eyes to Thernardier, who had his jaw set and a dangerous, almost maddening look about him that warned Enjolras to quit if he held a prayer of getting Éponine back in one piece. He knew then that the man wouldn't hesitate to harm or even kill his own daughter. Thernardier was right: he really _didn't_ have anything to lose anymore, for he had nothing left save for his wife, whom he evidently seemed to care very little for and vice versa.

Enjolras stepped forward, prompting Marius to ask him under his breath, "What the hell are you doing?" Enjolras started to lower the guns gripped in his hands, waiting for Thernardier to loosen his grip on Éponine as well. Gradually, the pressure to Éponine's neck eased as Enjolras bent down to drop his pistols to the floor. Éponine whimpered again, though it was unclear whether it was at the defeated stance of the man she loved or her father's painful grasp.

Then, all hell broke loose. In a flash of white light, loud shots rang out, followed by several fierce cries of distress. As the smoke from the gunshots cleared, Thernardier found his two fellow thieves sprawled out on the floor, wailing and grimacing in agony at the blood that trickled down their legs where they had each been shot in the shin.

Meanwhile, Marius had Thernardier's wife in a choke hold with one of his guns aimed at her head. Between Enjolras's two pistols pointed at him and Marius's additional one, Thernardier found himself at an immediate loss and went numb where he stood.

Enjolras motioned Éponine to him with a toss of his head. Seeing as her father was too stunned and afraid now to so much as move, Éponine wiggled her way free of his grasp, but not before the knife next to her throat left a scratch as she made her escape. She cringed but ignored the burning pain as she flew into Enjolras's arms, though he was too preoccupied keeping his guns aimed at her father to hug her fully.

Ignoring the continued cries of the men on the floor, Enjolras spoke calmly into the stifling, confined room, "Marius, bring Madame Thernardier over here, if you please, and take Éponine downstairs. I won't be long."

Marius didn't hesitate to do as instructed, as though he and his fallen friends were back on the lonely barricade and taking orders from their fearless commander. Éponine, however, was staring up into Enjolras face, studying the terrifying expression he wore that she found to be unrecognizable.

"Enjolras?" she sputtered worriedly, searching his face for remnants of the man she knew and loved. "What are you—"

"Run along, Éponine."

His calm, though deadly, tone of voice startled her to the quick and she grabbed onto the front of his coat. "Please don't do anything stup—"

"I said _run along._"

His address was biting, cutthroat, and echoed that of a resolved soldier. Éponine found herself being snatched away by Marius, who pulled her out of the room and down the steps against her will, her arms outstretched to Enjolras all the while as she was led away.

The last glimpse she saw was that of the back of her fiancé, dressed in his blood red coat, and with two loaded guns aimed at her parents' heads as they slunk to the floor and huddled together, gazing up in a deadened shock. She could see that her father's pants were soiled with urine.

After a few minutes downstairs of fighting against Marius to go back up, two shots rang out, and both Marius and Éponine froze in place. An unsettling silence lingered in the air until heavy footsteps followed the bellowing artillery.

Enjolras appeared at the bottom of the stairs, his marble face once again suggestive of the man she had formed such an attachment to. That unknowing fury was gone. She wanted to run to him but held back, gazing at him with a mixture of awe and terror in her watery brown eyes.

Sensing her misgivings, Enjolras carefully approached her and reached a hand out to gently stroke her cheek. "Are you all right?" he murmured, and Éponine felt her throat unlock.

"Yes, I... I think so..."

Enjolras's fingers traced her jaw down to her neck, brushing along the mark left by her father's knife. "This will need proper attention when we get home."

_Home._

Éponine stared at him long and hard, unable to breathe or speak, though an emotional response was nearing, reaching from the pits of her stomach up through her throat. Marius stepped forward, also looking rather hesitant.

"Enjolras," he started to cautiously inquire, "what did you—"

"Nothing that Éponine wouldn't have approved of," he answered, and Éponine felt the dreaded weight in the atmosphere lift. She flung herself against his solid form, grateful when he wrapped her up in a hug and held her tightly to his chest.

"I'm so sorry," her words finally came spewing out. "I'm so, so sorry! My father threatened to ruin us! He promised to expose my past and alert the authorities of your whereabouts if I didn't come to him at dawn. I - I didn't see any other way! I didn't—"

"It's all right, Éponine," he whispered, bestowing as much calmness as he could. He handed off his guns to Marius so that he could embrace her properly. "It's all over now."

There were muffled cries against his chest, fingers that dug into his back, and some wonderful nuzzling against his neck. "You came for me," she sniveled in a pained murmur. "You _really_ came for me... _You really came..._"

"Of course I did," Enjolras challenged, hugging her even tighter with his face burrowed snug into the nape of her neck. "Did you actually think I didn't care enough to come find you?"

"No, of course not!" she cried harder, overcome with emotion. "It's just... You came for me! You did! _For me!_"

After allowing her a moment to cry unabashedly, Marius motioned to his friends to get a move on. "We have to get out of here. Come quickly!"

Enjolras swiftly removed his coat and wrapped it around Éponine's shoulders, leading her out of the battered house with his arm bound around her shoulder, pulling her against him protectively. Éponine tried to wipe at her eyes but was overwrought. Half way down the street, she closed her eyes and bundled her face against Enjolras's chest, perceivably trembling from head to toe.

"It's all right, Éponine," she heard Enjolras reassure her in his smooth, collected voice several times. "It's over now. I promise you, they _can't_ come after you anymore. I've made them promise. They _won't_ come looking for you ever again."

Enjolras repeated those affirmative words to Éponine several more times before they reached the carriage, where he took her chin in hand and forced her to meet his eyes. Though still crying, she paused long enough to take in his soothing countenance.

"You're mine now," he declared softly and brought his lips to her forehead. Éponine was overwhelmed and leaned into his warm, loving caress, content to stay in such a position forever when he added, "And I'm yours," which made her bury her face in his chest and softly weep some more.

Éponine found herself eased into the horse-drawn carriage and whisked away from her fretful past once and for all, only this time she sensed with certainty, thanks to the man at her side, that her demons wouldn't follow her this time. Enjolras had, with a few choice words, restored her confidence that things would be different from here on, and that was all Éponine needed to hear to succumb to her emotional exhaustion. Without much effort, she fell asleep in Enjolras's arms.

Throughout their short journey home, Éponine slept with her future husband's strong arms latched around her and hers around him, as though she feared he would vanish in a billow of smoke and air should she let go. She never woke, even as her fiancé exited the carriage with her carefully held in his arms.

Without a word, he carried her into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom. There, he laid down beside her and allowed Éponine to re-snuggle against his chest and with one arm draped over him in a loose-fitting embrace. Enjolras smiled into her hair and requested that Cosette fret over Éponine later and allow her—both of them, rather—time to rest and recoup.

* * *

The following day was spent recouping from her horrid experience in the company of good friends. By the late afternoon, Éponine was feeling more like herself again, though still slightly drained from her life-changing experience. To Enjolras's amusement, she hardly left his side that day, either remaining attached to his hand or, as was the case following lunch, his side whilst dozing comfortably on the couch.

"She's really been through the ringer, that one," Monsieur Gillenormand stated softly from his usual spot in the parlor next to the fireplace. The Pontmercies had excused themselves after lunch, as Cosette did some last minute preparations for their upcoming nuptials on the couple's behalf and Marius left for class at university.

"Yes, she has," Enjolras returned in an equally hushed tone, a hand mindfully brushing up and down her arm as she slept.

Ever more curious since their return, Monsieur Gillenormand decided that now was as good a time as ever to press Enjolras with his questions. "What _exactly_ did you do, Enjolras? Marius said that he heard gunshots?"

Enjolras peered over at the old man, content not to disclose anything, but there were no secrets to be had amongst their small, intimate group. A wry smile crept across his lips, Éponine's head tucked snug beneath his chin.

"There _were_ gunshots, yes," he answered, humored when Monsieur Gillenormand looked determined to weasel the details out of him. "Warning shots, that is."

"Ahhh, I see..." He raised one curious, bushy eyebrow. "_And?_"

"And threats were made—promises, rather—should they decide to ever come snooping around these parts again."

"And you don't think they will?"

"No." Enjolras's eyes drifted to the woman asleep in his fold, snoring faintly against his chest. "I think my promises sunk in quite clearly."

Monsieur Gillenormand angled his head. "What makes you so sure that they won't this time?"

The all-knowing smile on Enjolras's handsome face stretched farther. "They wretched themselves when my message was through and what I promised to do to them should they be foolish enough to try."

To this, Monsieur Gillenormand's eyebrows drew high on his forehead. "My, my, you're capable of being quite terrible, you know that?"

His tone was both amusing but also slightly alarmed, and it held Enjolras's unwavering gaze and attractive smirk for a time, though the arm that was wrapped around Éponine coiled a little tighter. The young Mademoiselle continued to dose uninterrupted, however, peaceful and secure in her fiancé's embrace.

"Indeed, Monsieur," Enjolras returned in a dangerous whisper, "I _am_ capable of being terrible...if provoked."

* * *

*** Translation:** "_Shit!_"


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: We've (finally!) arrived at a few very important moments in this story. However, please heed the warning below that's included in this A/N. It's there for a reason.  
**

**Warning: This chapter is rated M for sexual content. (However, considering the rest of this story is, at most, T-rated material, I have chosen not to change the overall rating. If it were to become an issue for FFN, though, I will gladly change it and post the M material on my LJ account.)**

******Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 18**

_**"To love another person is to see the face of God."**_  
_**-Les Misérables**_

* * *

Éponine stared long and hard at herself in the full length mirror. She wasn't even sure how long she had been standing still and admiring her remarkable, ivory-colored wedding gown, for it was quite a sight to behold. The thoughts running through her mind, however, had little to do with the dress itself, how she looked, or even physically how much she had changed and prospered in the past year. Rather, her mind was consumed with tender thoughts of her husband-to-be, and she wasn't at all nervous for what was to come.

Cosette suddenly came into view from behind her, dressed in an extravagant pastel green dress with a black ribbon around her waist and silver hair accessories. In her hands she held Éponine's bouquet—a vibrant assortment of blooms handpicked from Monsieur Gillenormand's garden.

Exchanging a quiet moment together, Éponine finally turned around to face her friend, who handed her the beautiful bouquet and assisted with placing her veil over her head. "Are you ready?" Cosette asked once her attire was perfectly set, to which Éponine took a deep breath and nodded. "Very well. The carriage is waiting."

Escorting Éponine from the Pontmercies' room and down the staircase, Éponine and Cosette soon found themselves being whisked away in an open horse-drawn carriage. Éponine received several tipped hats and cheers from strangers on the streets as they made their way to the church where Enjolras, Marius, and Monsieur Gillenormand were waiting for them, along with a handful of other acquaintances they had made in the past several months as an engaged couple.

The events leading up to the wedding ceremony itself became a whirlwind for the bride. Éponine was aware of the general buzzing happening all around her, mainly from an elated and all-too-happy-to-assist Cosette, and she tried to take in as much of the moment as her nerves could spare.

Some of the butterflies that had settled in her stomach were immediately erased when Monsieur Gillenormand rounded a corner and smiled affectionately at her. Though surprised to see him, Éponine readily smiled back and waved him over, where Cosette was fanning out her train for probably the fifth or sixth time since their arrival.

"My, my, my dear," Monsieur Gillenormand murmured in awe, soaking in the beautiful bride before his eyes. "You look splendid!"

"Thank you, Monsieur."

"Well, then, shall we?" He held out his arm to her, earning a shocked reaction from Éponine.

"Oh! I... Would you?"

"Would I?" Monsieur Gillenromand snorted. "What an absurd question!"

Éponine allowed him to take her arm with a proud smile that stretched from ear to ear. It was a touching gesture she hadn't at all bargained for. She had been prepared to walk herself down the aisle for months leading up to this moment, never anticipating that Monsieur Gillenormand would take the duty upon himself of giving her away.

_Like a real father figure..._

Deeply moved and caught off her guard, Éponine pulled back her veil to peck the elder gentleman's cheek, her eyes brimming with tears. Monsieur Gillenormand blushed, his own emotional reaction surfacing despite his best efforts. Even his bushy mustache twitched.

"Best save that kiss for your husband-to-be," he muttered, trying to sound disingenuous and grouchy but failing miserably.

Éponine and Cosette giggled in unison as he led them through the doors to altar with Cosette bringing up the rear. Guests immediately rose to their feet as an organ began to play, and Éponine took the small moment the musical allowed her to scan for the only individual she had need to find: Enjolras. She spotted him at the altar with Marius standing next to him, both looking remarkably dapper in their black coattails and trousers. On his chest, Enjolras bore the red, white, and blue symbol of his revolution—a personal touch both bride and groom approved of, even if Monsieur Gillenormand didn't. Her own ribbon had been sewn proudly around her bouquet.

As dashing as Enjolras may have looked, it was his face that she was most focused on as she progressed down the aisle towards him. There was a tranquility on his face and a mesmerized glimmer in his eyes that told her she had not only hit her mark with the wedding gown but that also she was—to _him_—the most beautiful bride in the world. That message was clear as day across his face. Her breath caught in her throat when she reached his side and her arm slipped through his, leaving Monsieur Gillenromand to take a seat in the front pew.

Éponine wasn't aware of anything else—not the guests, the priest, or Monsieur Gillenormand leaving her side—only the blond-haired gentleman standing beside her and staring down as though she were the most fetching creature he had ever laid eyes on. His words that followed, which he whispered into her ear, matched that readable notion.

"You look stunning, Éponine."

"Thank you," she replied with a soft smile, nudging him playfully in the ribs. "You don't look so bad yourself."

Shooting her a small smirk reserved only for her, the two tried to turn their attention to rest of the ceremony, although frequent sidelong glances made the act of focusing rather difficult. Still, the rest of their wedding went by exceedingly fast and, before Éponine knew it, she was facing Enjolras with a ring wrapped around her fourth finger. Gazing up into Enjolras's eyes—a sight she admittedly never imagined would be the striking gentleman in question—she smiled and allowed him to draw her closer as the priest announced them as "man and wife."

Pulling her to him to seal their nuptials, Enjolras warm lips closed in on hers and, for a fleeting moment, the rest of the world slipped away. A hand reached up to caress one side of her face; a smaller hand glided up his neck to weave fingers delicately through his tight curls. Then, the rest of the world registered again through robust cheers and loud clapping that echoed throughout the intimate church setting. Enjolras and Éponine's mouths broke apart, followed by blissful smiles from both as they exited the church arm in arm, as husband and wife, and with their friends following closely behind.

* * *

"What a wonderful day, yes?" Cosette chimed, taking a seat next to her husband in the parlor.

Night had finally fallen on their wedding reception—at least, for most of their party. Having only been attended by close friends—mainly those from university and elder couples who were acquaintances of Monsieur Gillenormand—the celebration had lasted until dusk. Éponine and Enjolras were now content to be amongst those closest to them, and their celebration, which included plenty of wine and champagne, went on well past midnight, after which the family decided to retire at long last, leaving Éponine and Enjolras—mostly—to their own devices.

For a while, the newlyweds sat in comfortable silence in the abandoned parlor room, staring lovingly at one another and soaking in every fine detail of their special day. The dim candle lighting throughout put the room in a darkened, romantic glow, leading Enjolras to occasionally take Éponine's hand in his and leave trails of kisses along her palm and wrist, whilst she snuggled closer and nuzzled his face against his neck.

How perfect and complete life now felt for Éponine, and for the very first time in her life. A true sense of love and security was present like none she had ever experienced before. Also, a burning desire that had been forming in the days leading up to tonight were also quickly becoming clear amidst soft candle light, warm kisses, and skin teasingly brushing skin. Though slightly nervous, Éponine was very much looking forward to tonight—another importance first step for the one-time street rat who had experienced far more harrowing advances than she ever deserved or wanted.

"What are you thinking?" she heard Enjolras whisper softly to her after a while of laying side by side on the couch, their bodies rubbing up against each other.

A contended Éponine peered up at her husband, met by his gentle curiosity. "You," she answered just as quietly, stretching her neck to lay a warm kiss on his lips.

Enjolras didn't respond further, merely met her satisfied smile with one of his own before slowly easing them both to their feet. Having taken the liberty of removing her heels earlier in the evening, Éponine was appeased to return to their new quarters barefooted and kept a hand linked through his, allowing Enjolras to lead her out of the parlor and down the quiet hallway towards their new bed chambers.

It included a small sitting room that extended beyond the bedroom and, here, they paused to open a window and allow the natural summer breeze to permeate the well-heated room. They were soon greeted by their new maid, Claudine, a friendly, eager-to-please young blonde who wasn't much older than either of them. She smiled brightly at Éponine, awaiting her instructions.

"I need to get out of this wedding dress," Éponine tittered, eying Enjolras sidelong. He arched an encouraging eyebrow in her direction and leaned down for another kiss.

"Tell me when you're decent and I'll come."

"Very well."

Shooting him a seductive smile, Éponine shimmied into their bedroom, followed closely by Claudine, and the door was then closed. Not sure what to do or how to occupy himself in the interim, Enjolras took a seat on the couch and leaned back to inspect the elaborate crown moldings and high ceilings. Not that he cared all that much about the current space he was in, only that of the fetching woman that awaited him on the opposite side of the wall.

After nearly twenty minutes, however, Enjolras was well beyond fidgeting and antsy by her long absence. _What in God's name is keeping them?_ he puzzled, staring at the door with a furrowed brow. He was about to consider knocking to find out what was keeping his new wife when the door suddenly creaked open, sparing him of having to move.

It was just as well that he hadn't, though, for his entire body froze in place at the alluring sight before him: his alluring other half, draped in nothing but a silk robe of fierce crimson that was undoubtedly his favorite shade of red. Her long hair, which had been laced into an elegant bun for their wedding, now tumbled wildly down her shoulders. One of her legs also happened to be peaking out between the opening at the bottom of her robe, and Enjolras's lust-filled eyes roamed over her figure like a lion about to claim his prey.

"Thank you, Claudine, you may go," Éponine ordered their maid, who emerged from the bedroom looking smug and satisfied with her work. She quietly left, leaving the newlyweds alone.

_At last_, Éponine thought, grinning to her stunned and obviously turned on husband. The tightening around the crotch of his trousers acted as the evidence.

"Like what you see, Monsieur?" she teased, enjoying the usually stern and austere Enjolras's slightly gaping mouth and sheer look of desire in those piercing, blue eyes.

"_Oui_," he uttered, unconsciously licking his lips in anticipation of what was to come.

Éponine beckoned Enjolras to her with a flirtatious toss of her head, to which the freedom fighter obeyed with remarkable ease. He rose from the sofa and sauntered over, pausing before Éponine to survey the enticing number she wore, which loosely clung to her body and appeared ready to slink to the floor at any moment. Her left shoulder was already exposed, the fabric hanging limp against her arm. He slowly wove a firm hand around her waist and tugged her closer.

"It's for you," Éponine whispered breathlessly, watching his eyes attentively scan her form with understated excitement.

The smile Enjolras projected down to her was gentle enough to inadvertently make Éponine brush up against him and hitch a breath at the back of her throat. He sought the side of her face with his mouth, his cheek lightly grazing hers, and murmured "_Beau_," ***** into her ear. Éponine shuddered in his fold, caught up in his tender, yet enticing, observation. She leaned into him with her arms wrapped around his back, and he did the same, their embrace snug and warm.

Then Éponine was unexpectedly swept off her feet—literally—for Enjolras picked her up in one fell swoop and stepped into their bedroom with her draped in his arms, her elated giggles tickling his face as they both took a moment to eye their new quarters. The room was immersed in romantic candle light, but a luxurious, dark green wallpaper and cherry wood furnishings made up the large space. A high window was open to the summer breeze and the soft lighting cast the four-poster bed across the room in a gentle, sleep-inducing glow.

Enjolras took Éponine to the bed and laid her done upon the duvet, gazing at her in a thoughtful quietude as he tried to read his wife's own silence. Finally, he linked a hand through hers and brought his face closer.

"Are you all right?" he murmured, looking her over with care.

Éponine slowly nodded a 'yes,' offering him another one of her radiant smiles that he hadn't taken notice of until intimate time spent together in the Gillenormand house allowed for such an observation. How had he ever overlooked that smile before? His heart beat faster at the receiving of such obvious affections, devotion, and want of him.

Then she surprised him further by bringing their intertwined hand to her lips, where she bestowed several loving kisses upon the back of his hand. When she peered up at him again, the look she bore was considerably different than before. Gone was the sweetness, that placid expression of love. Instead, her sepia-toned eyes were illuminated like a flame, a burning desire forming in their depths that had little to do with the candles scattered throughout the room. It was entirely her own; a deeply passionate yearning that had been bubbling below the surface of her outwardly ladylike disposition.

"Enjolras," she issued with an overt ache in her tone of voice, "please... _Touch me..._"

This time, Enjolras didn't hesitate or feign restraint to Éponine's request. He coveted her mouth and began kissing her with eager mindfulness, his tongue soon slipping inside her mouth to delve deeper, earning a soft moan of encouragement from his flushing new bride. His large hands scaled her jawline and down her neck, then to her arms and along the natural small curves of her body. His thoughtfulness was clear and evident in the way his hands moved over every inch within range, savoring that electrifying contact of skin on skin.

He clearly worshipped her body as something sacred, and Éponine secretly never felt more alive or reassured sexually and emotionally than in this moment. The robe she wore quickly slipped away as Enjolras began rubbing himself against her, at first entangling the fabric before the tie unwrapped itself, as though of its own accord. At last, it presented him a complete picture of his blushing, breathless wife.

Éponine, who had brought Enjolras into a tight embrace as they fervently kissed one another, brought her hands around his back and began tugging anxiously at the buttons on his formal-fitting vest. He had removed his coat earlier, and now Éponine was determined to see the rest of his garments come undone. Just as he now had an uncompromising view of her person, so she desired of him, too.

Enjolras was vaguely aware of his vest being unclasped, as well as the dress shirt beneath, and soon his bare chest was open and exposed—a reality Éponine was evidently keen on exploring. Warm, curious hands glided along his protruding collar bone, his firm breast bone, and the various sculpted contours of his torso. She wasn't surprised that Enjolras was such a fit man. He wasn't one to overindulge in much of anything—_Except politics_, she had often mused to herself—but taking in the strapping sight of his sculpted beauty made her heart flutter excitedly against her chest.

She was rather grateful he wasn't perfect, however. The harsh gunshot wounds dampened what would otherwise be a flawless marble statue of a man; and yet, the torn flesh itself humanized Enjolras in a manner Éponine hadn't realized until now. He was no longer something to be idealized and revered as untouchable, but a man who had_ lived_ a life rather than idly stood by basking in the sunlight.

Éponine traced the wounds, carefully ascertaining Enjolras's reaction with quick upward glances, but he didn't flinch or shy away from her touch at all. Rather, he began kissing her with more vigor, encouraging her along, and, thus, Éponine persevered.

Equally encouraged, Enjolras took the liberty of appraising Éponine's nude form lying beneath him between kisses, pulling away from their lip locking every so often to take in the breathless sight of her. He re-uttered his sentiments from earlier with deep yearning.

"_Beau..._" his lips fluttered against hers. "_Beau..._"

Éponine sucked in a sharp breath every time at Enjolras's emotional declaration. His heated touch, on the other hand, was driving her mad with want. His fingers were running themselves over every part of her body, and for the very first time at that. How long had she desired this? For Enjolras to freely touch her as he was doing so presently?

As Enjolras's hands brushed their way down the sides of her ribcage to her small, yet perfectly perked, breasts, Enjolras's lips, too, moved away to stare intently. Éponine tried to focus, but she was soon overrun by the overpowering warmth and feel of Enjolras's large hands lightly squeezing and fondling her breasts. When his tongue followed suit, she nearly screamed at the newfound arousal such caressing brought. She arched her back as one of his hands massaged her one breast and his tongue coveted the other, swirling around her hardened nipple in a slow circle that shot peculiar sensations straight to her sex.

_Yes, oh God... Oh God, I've wanted this_, she very near moaned aloud.

Éponine instinctively reached down to capture clumps of his soft curls between her fingers, scrunching them as Enjolras's warming, wet ministrations began causing her to squirm excitedly. Every moment his body was pressed up against hers, Éponine was certain she would lose her head if he didn't fully undress, and soon.

"Enjolras?"

He raised his head, his eyes filled with sexual appetite; it was unlike anything she had ever seen.

"Yes?"

Éponine drew up onto her elbows, several soft waves of hair falling against her face. Surveying him for a pause, she then sat up straight and began the task of removing his vest and dress shirt completely. Enjolras remained perfectly still, enjoying Éponine's delicate fingers combing over his skin as she cast the items off, touching and pulling and brushing her breasts up against his bare chest as she did so.

Once his upper attire was removed, Éponine eyed her husband with a rather wicked grin—one he had grown to love—and her enchanted eyes trailed to his trousers and, more importantly, the erection that beckoned to be released. She reached out a hand that grazed teasingly down Enjolras's pant line, where she tugged at the material. Her fingers gingerly roved further downward to gently grasp his erection in her hand, or what she could of it, and Enjolras sucked in a deep breath. Then she began to squeeze and pull and stroke him, taunting Enjolras to keep his control.

Surprised, yet not about to request that Éponine desist, Enjolras's hips buckled against her touch, his chest beginning to heave and his eyelids fluttering to maintain their focus. Éponine shifted closer to him and pressed her lips once more to his, keeping her hand on Enjolras's groin whilst sucking and tugging seductively on his bottom lip.

After another minute or two in which the normally reserved Enjolras echoed groans of arousal unlike anything Éponine had ever heard before, his hand latched around Éponine's wrist and—reluctantly—pulled her away from his hardening length. His eyes bore into hers, darker and with a hunger that was more intensified than ever. She never thought him capable of such a reaction, and it made her insides flitter.

"Lie down," he commanded, though nonabrasively; still, his instruction was strongly urged, and Éponine did as he requested without question.

Craning her neck to see what Enjolras had in mind, she found his hands gently prying her legs apart, his intense gaze set on hers for a moment before they blinked and shifted their focus to her moistened folds, which were, too, carefully eased apart, revealing wife to husband at last.

That smoldering stare of his met hers once more and he whispered reassuringly, "Relax," which Éponine obeyed with surprising effortlessness. She had no idea how experienced her husband was in this department, despite the intimate setting she now found herself in, and yet, it didn't really matter to Éponine whether he was or wasn't. She trusted him—_With all my heart_, her conscience told her—and she would allow Enjolras to take charge of her like she was his Patria, his all, _his everything_.

Éponine laid down flat on the bed, waiting, her hands draped across the duvet. She was vaguely aware of Enjolras's exhilarated sighs at the vision before him and was about to incline her head again when the tickle of warm breathing whiffed against her weeping vulva, causing her to tense. The feel of her coverings being slightly stretched and two digits slipping inside her canal immediately ignited Éponine from the inside out.

"_Mon Dieu!_" ****** she was soon hissing and clutching her hands onto the covers, scrunching the expensive fabric into her fists for lack of a firmer purchase. Her head rolled back and forth as Enjolras's fingers weaved and delved inside her, sliding up and down and every which way vigorously, to pleasure her most sensitive spots. "_Enjolras!_" she cried several times, which aroused him more than she could make sense of.

Enjolras was consumed by the sight of a beautifully naked and splayed Éponine wiggling and writhing under his physical attention, slowly losing control of mind and body—and all because of _his_ advances. It defied explanation—the sight of his wife's tousled hair, perfectly-shaped heaving breasts, and sprawled legs. He was as turned on by her animated demonstrations of arousal as she was at being pleasured by him with his hand. Soon, she climaxed, clenching around his digits and curving her back as she came with a fierce cry that shook the room.

Enjolras eased his fingers, wetted by the remnants of her orgasm, out of Éponine and waited for her hazy eyes to come back into focus. As her breathing calmed, he crawled onto the bed and hovered over her, smirking rather triumphantly.

"Did you enjoy that?" he inquired in a low murmur, bending down to gently kiss her swollen mouth; she returned his question by moaning contentedly.

When Enjolras reared back, Éponine had his handsome face cupped in her hands. Staring deep into his eyes, their brightness reflecting the soft lighting throughout the room, her next words made his breath stall.

"_Fais-moi l'amour..._" *******

Enjolras stilled and, for a moment, the newlyweds simply stared admiringly at one another. Enjolras then broke the silence by taking her mouth again, kissing her as deeply and ardently as possible. Limbs blended together, hands explored bare skin, and a series of passionate echoes ensued.

Éponine's legs were spread wide, inviting Enjolras to enter, and the feel of his engorged shaft repeatedly brushing along her sensitive entrance was enough to drive her insane. Luckily, Enjolras was proving an eager lover. His trousers were soon swiftly unbuttoned and kicked off the bed out of sight. He proceeded to kiss her with far more earnest, and Éponine met his advances with equal zeal and excitement, pawing at his back and pushing her body against his as much as she could.

"_Fais-moi l'amour, Enjolras_," she breathlessly reiterated, for which Enjolras complied through another aching groan.

Finally, Enjolras tore his mouth away to move into position. Taking a moment to mount himself, Éponine was slowly stretched as Enjolras's length filled her to capacity, sparking her very nerve-endings as he entered. She had expected to freeze up or even grow nervous by this point, but, to her utter relief and delight, she was willing and ready when he began thrusting back and forth in a slow rhythm inside her, his face close to hers and his stimulations encouraging Éponine along. She gasped at the divine sensation of finally feeling her husband move inside her and it wasn't long before she was clasping onto Enjolras's back, avid to meet his steady rhythm and quicken the pace.

"_Oh!_" Éponine was soon gasping between crying Enjolras's name. "_Dieu oui!_ ******** _Enjolras!_"

The two never took their eyes off of each other, although, between Éponine's cries of ecstasy and Enjolras's groans of pleasure, their visions drifted in and out of focus. Enjolras's dampened face was pressed against his wife's, his rough-sounding breathing whiffing against her ear. He could feel Éponine's legs frantically trying to wrap themselves around his waist a few times unsuccessfully before finally locking at the ankles, her heels digging into his lower spine and her fingers clenching his shoulders as they rocked back and forth in perfect harmony.

Echoing her name as she did his, his uttering of her name was enough to send Éponine over the edge. She broke apart into a second orgasm, clenching her thighs around him and pressing her body into his; but Enjolras continued, never ceasing and pounded into her harder and harder against the mattress. His arms roped around her limp form as he, too, headed for a violent climax.

Éponine didn't think she could come a third time, but between the driving, relentless rhythm Enjolras had set, the moans in her ear that made her spine tingle, and the electric sparks inside her that kept up their hard-hitting pursuits, Éponine soon lost the battle. With another overwhelming wave of ecstasy, Éponine burst, threw back her head, and nearly tore flesh as her hands clamped down on Enjolras's back when she came. It barely registered to her a few moments later that Enjolras had finally caved, too, and climaxed inside her, also tossing his head backward and desperately flexing his limbs, twitching and near growling with his release.

Éponine slowly opened her eyes to the sound of combined strenuous breathing. Her legs unfurled from around Enjolras's waist and collapsed against the bed as though they were weightless, along with the rest of her. Feeling quite euphoric and drowsy, Enjolras made to slide out of Éponine when her hands, still loosely digging into his back, tried to hold him in place.

"No," she whispered, though it almost sounded like a whimper to his ears. "Stay..."

Enjolras was admittedly quite spent, as was she, so it didn't take much effort to convince either party not to move. Enjolras easily fell back on top of Éponine and her arms twisted themselves around his neck, as though she didn't trust that he would remain where he was—his face burrowed into her neck and inhaling the lingering scent of sweat and sex between them.

It took Enjolras another moment or two to register that Éponine was making soft, sniveling noises. He raised his head to look at her, only to discover tears looming in her eyes. As she returned his glance, a series of tears began rolling down her cheeks, startling him out of the comfortable quietude that had befallen their intense, satisfying union.

Before he could inquire as to why she was crying, Éponine spoke first, and in a pained voice. "Thank you," she muttered, her lower lip quivering as she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck. "Thank you so much... I... I don't know...how to tell you..."

It was an appreciation for so many things—loving her, mostly—but also for making the natural progression between man and woman actually _meaningful, pleasant_, and even _desirable_. It was an agonizing, tormented echo of all of Éponine's past misfortunes when it came to sex, and how greatly her new husband had changed what she had for so long feared and despised.

Enjolras understood the magnitude of Éponine's expression without further explanation. Thus, his small smile was tender, his blue eyes returning to their usual gentleness when it came to her. He brought his forehead to hers with a heavily contented sigh. His lips left a series of kisses that mapped from her mouth to her cheek, and Éponine instinctively leaned into his touch, closing her wet eyes and allowing him to illustrate his regard for her.

Soon, her breathing leveled out and, together, the newlyweds basked in the silence and stillness for some time before willing their first night as husband and wife to continue for another round. Or three.

* * *

*** Translation:** "_Beautiful._"  
**** Translation:** "_My God!_"  
***** Translation:** "_Make love to me..._"  
****** Translation:** "_God yes!_"

**A/N #2: I hope the smut met your expectations...**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: We're quickly reaching the end. Only one chapter (Epilogue) to come after this installment. I can't believe it's almost over! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. I felt this chapter was necessary to move our couple _truly_ forward...  
**

******Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Chapter 19**

_**"Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise"**_  
_**- Les Misérables**_

* * *

Enjolras stared out the window of the carriage, apprehension lining his brow. Éponine didn't miss the nerves that brewed below the surface, or the way his hands fidgeted together in his lap, or how decidedly he peered out the window as though unable to look away, and yet, unwanting to move forward. Silently, she reached across the gap between them to squeeze his slightly quivering hand, reassuring him quietly that all would be well; or so she hoped. Enjolras blinked and turned his expression of uncertainty towards her, his mouth firmly cast in a frown.

"Ready?" she whispered, trying to sound as encouraging as possible, knowing how difficult this endeavor would likely prove.

Enjolras's mouth twitched and he returned her question with a rhetorical one of his own. "Will I ever be?"

He didn't wait for Éponine to reply; it wasn't really necessary.

Enjolras opened the carriage door before Tom could and stepped out into the bustling Parisian street beyond. Keeping his features set straight, he offered his wife his hand as she, too, emerged from the carriage to join him.

Without a word, Éponine allowed herself to be led on the arm of her husband onward, the inseparable pair weaving their way through the crowds. It didn't take much convincing—between the couple's apparel and simple manner of walking—that they didn't exactly fit in with the swarms of people converging on _this_ part of town. It was certainly of a higher class then where Éponine had been plucked out of but still relatively poor by comparison to Enjolras's background.

Their presence earned a few stares and upraised eyebrows, but Enjolras was too distracted to take notice as Éponine did. She suspected that anyone they may happen to run into wouldn't, in all likelihood, recognize her. Between her changed demeanor, altered appearance, and even in her method of speaking and moving, Éponine's identity was virtually unrecognizable now.

There was also the fact that it had been well over a year since she or Enjolras had last been to these parts, and for quite legitimate—and obvious—reasons. Today, Éponine felt nothing but calm and collectedness as they drew closer to their destination. She knew the struggle and will might prove more trying for her husband, but he had gone along with her suggestion, not backing down from the idea as she feared he might.

There was no mistaking his understated misgivings at present, however. His stance was rigid and his hands were clamped. Éponine gazed up at Enjolras's profile, wanting to ensure he was all right, but suddenly he ceased walking, and Éponine was forced to trace his eyesight to the vision that stood before them. A short distance away stood the abandoned, boarded up cafe—its remains a gripping reminder of where the countless meetings of the _Les Amis de l'ABC_ had long been held. A symbolic place where they had conversed so adamantly about change and evolution. The emblem of the falling barricade, where so many lives were lost to the cause.

Éponine surveyed the place for only a moment. Its remnants meant very little emotionally to her, despite the spot having served as where she nearly lost her life. She had never known the men well that so often gathered there, after all—Enjolras's closest friends—nor expressed much interest in their revolution, as she had been too wrapped up in unrequited love to concern herself with their political aspirations.

For Enjolras, however, she knew how grave and trying this moment was, so she turned her attention to him, wanting to feel for any signs of distress or need of reassurance that this emotional undertaking would surely call for. If he had need of her, then she would be present.

"Enjolras?" she tentatively whispered to him, watching the contours of his face morph.

Enjolras's eyes shifted but remained fixed ahead. He silently strolled forward, beckoning Éponine to keep pace with him as he approached the door to the cafe with open reluctance. Before reaching it, he paused, keeping his eyes directly in front of him. The door appeared to have been picked over, undoubtedly by poor souls in need of shelter for the night, which the deserted cafe provided.

_A place of refuge... Of closure_, Enjolras pondered silently as he pressed a hand to the door. It easily gave way, creaking and scraping as he pushed it open with hardly any effort.

"Éponine?"

His voice had never sounded quite so unsteady, and that perked her ears up. "Yes?" she returned, scanning his focused eyes intently.

Finally, he turned his head towards her, but his face was a mask of apathy—a look she detested, and yet, painfully understood. Her new husband wasn't a candidly emotional gentleman. Unlike Marius, he wasn't prone to outspoken sentimentality, and, in that moment, Éponine comprehended his request wholeheartedly before it came. He wanted to be alone inside the cafe and wished to face the demons of his past on his own without an audience.

"Might I have a moment?" he requested with a perceivable edge to his voice.

Éponine smiled up at him with as much warmness as she could bestow. "Of course." She squeezed his arm for added measure. "I'll wait right here for you."

"Would you..."

Fully aware of what he wanted to ask but simply couldn't, Éponine lengthened her smile to illustrate her reassurance. "I'll be along soon."

Enjolras's blue eyes flickered, showcasing the level of his understated gratitude. He looked like he desperately wanted to return her smile but was emotionally too raw to do so. To Éponine, however, it didn't matter that he couldn't. She encouraged him forward with a nod, and Enjolras tore his gaze away from her to the door that beckoned him inside.

_Hopefully forward and into our future_, Éponine considered as Enjolras's arm unfurled itself from hers.

With a hesitant step or two, Enjolras strode inside the cafe, his boots echoing along the wooden floorboards as he entered the forsaken establishment, now barely recognizable, and wandered his eyes about the room. Éponine could make out shattered pieces of glass and overturned stools and tables strewn about. It was alarming to see the remains now that the place had been emptied, although traces of the overrun barricade lingered everywhere in its aftermath.

It seemed that the French army had made quick work of sweeping the place before leaving it to its ruin. Splatters of dried blood could still be found on the floors—a sight which unsettled Éponine to discover, and her heart instantly fluttered nervously for her husband, whose eyes had unfortunately located the red stains as well. His body became suddenly paralyzed to the spot, for it was nearly a minute of Éponine staring at the back of his head from the open doorway before he moved an inch.

"Enjolras?" she chanced addressing him.

At receiving no answer, she cautiously stepped inside and approached him, forgetting for the moment his request to be left alone. Halting behind him, Éponine waited another moment before timidly reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. His curly head bent in her direction, but he didn't turn around or make direct eye contact. His gaze returned to the blotched floor with a solemn expression she couldn't make out.

"Enjolras?" Éponine spoke again after an agonizing period of silence. "Are you all right?"

Éponine waited, her heart thumping excitedly the longer the quietude stretched. He didn't speak for another minute or two, so Éponine stepped back, removing her hand from his shoulder, and turned away to leave him be, sensing that he truly _did_ want to be alone with his grief, when he startled her by grabbing her wrist. She turned to him, leaning closer to try to see his face, but Enjolras continued to stare dejectedly at the ground.

"No," he mumbled, and Éponine thought she heard his voice catch in his throat. "Please... Don't go..."

Éponine weaseled free of his grasp but remained and took him by the hand. She stared sadly at his broken profile.

"Are you sure?"

Enjolras turned his face to meet hers, and the anguish and pain evident in his eyes nearly fragmented Éponine's determination to stay strong for him. "Yes," he returned in a clearly tortured whisper. "Please stay?"

Éponine nodded and compressed his hand, reassuring him in her affection way that she wouldn't leave his side but to help him through his despair as best she could. Enjolras's fleeting appreciation was overt, for that moment, as they locked eyes before it passed away, replaced by returning dark sentiments of shame and melancholy. He cast his head back to the floor again for another weighty pause in which neither of them spoke. Then he lifted his head to finally take in the rest of the room.

"Grantaire used to sit over there in the corner." Enjolras pointed to where traces of the bar remained. There was no liquor or glasses, only a broken shelf of where the contents used to be. "I never thought he paid much attention to what I said; or that he gave a damn about the revolution one way or the other." He stopped to swallow the emotions creeping up the back of his throat. "He proved me quite wrong..."

Éponine instinctively leaned into him and brushed a hand along his arm. She remembered Grantaire more than any of the other men, though not for particularly positive reasons. The university student had proven himself quite the drunkard, and the one characteristic Éponine had made any study about the man was that he didn't—or couldn't—take anything seriously. How he had ended up a part of Enjolras's troop of revolutionists never made much sense to her; but then, she hadn't questioned it. Her mind had been preoccupied with Marius, and Marius alone.

"He stood up for the cause because he _believed_ in it," Éponine offered softly to Enjolras, who was clenching his jaw tightly.

"He didn't believe in it," came Enjolras's sullen reply. "He believed in _me_. And I failed him."

Éponine clutched Enjolras's arm in an attempt to shake him in order to be heard. "You didn't fail him, Enjolras. You didn't fail _any_ of them. They believed in this revolution, knowing what was at stake, and the people _still_ believe in that cause. You didn't let them down, my love. You were overrun. None of you stood a chance, but _you stood anyway because you believed in something greater than yourselves._"

Enjolras peered down at her, a severe frown still lining his mouth. His eyes desperately searched her face, wanting to accept her point of view; but their forlornness showcased the internal frustrations. Éponine brought a hand to his cheek and saw the visible strain ease at her gentle touch, if only a little. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths before reopening them and turning away towards the stairs.

Éponine, too, turned her attention to the steps, sensing that the next emotional hurdle upstairs was about to prove itself even harder. Her husband sauntered forward without a word but held tight to her hand as they climbed the stairs together to the second level.

What lay beyond they both already knew: the spot where Enjolras made his last stand, where the leader expected to die alongside his comrades whilst surrounded by infantry. Their footsteps felt heavy as they climbed, each step a physical struggle, particularly for Enjolras.

When they reached the top, they both halted in their tracks. Éponine waited patiently for the man at her side to make the first move.

Enjolras stared straight ahead and slowly drew away from her side, his hand eventually falling out of hers. It was a sunny afternoon, which allowed streams of light to make their way into the room between holes in the walls and the large, boarded window. Blood was once again splotched all over the floor, leaving a trail that stopped at the window.

_Enjolras's blood._

Éponine observed her husband's reserved stance. He lingered in the center of the room, some of the light casting itself like a glowing hallow around his golden locks. Éponine was momentarily left breathless by the tragic sight of him, dressed in his best crimson-colored coat with his back facing her as he stared at the window that had served as his escape that fateful day.

It took Éponine a moment to tear her eyes away, for something else caught her attention: Enjolras's hands at his sides were trembling and soon grew worse. Before long, his entire body was silently shaking, and Éponine's legs kicked into action. She dashed over to him but just as her hand wrapped itself around his arm, his entire body crumbled to the floor, taking Éponine with him.

Unable to prevent his fall, Éponine collapsed at his side and scooted as close to him as possible, wrapping an arm around his back, dismayed at the unsettling feeling of his strong body shaking against hers. Then she saw his face and nearly lost what little willpower she had left to remain collected. His eyes were pinched shut, his mouth was quivering, and he was breathing heavily, crippling under the weight of his suppressed despair from returning to such a dark spot of his past.

_My God, what have I done?_ Éponine fretted, afraid she might have doomed him by bringing him to this godawful place. She thought the act might help with his recovery and allow Enjolras to move forward by confronting the trauma head on, not aggravate matters and make things worse for him.

"God forgive me," he muttered over and over again, his breathing unsteady as he fought back tears and proceeded to tremble in his wife's arms.

"Enjolras—"

"Have I fallen so far?"

"No! No, you haven't! It'll be all right. It will, I promise you."

"_Will it?_"

"Yes, love. It can. _It will._"

Enjolras ran a hand over his face and turned again to Éponine, his expression wrought with a most desperate hope. "Thank God for you," he murmured painfully, doing his best not to lose his composure. Éponine found her throat constricting, particularly at what he conveyed next. "You told me once that God works in mysterious ways... That there's not always a reason for the events that happen in our lives, but that our survivals are God's greatest act of mercy..."

Éponine recalled that particular conversation and she inadvertently wove her arm tighter around him, her breath catching in her throat. "You're right, I... I did."

Enjolras's mournful gaze softened a little and he reached his hand out to stroke the side of her face, allowing himself a thoughtful moment to rub his thumb along her chin. He sighed heavily, as though releasing the great weight of the matter from his shoulders.

"I think _you_ are the reason, Éponine. I think God saved us so that we could save each other. I... I'd _like_ to believe that's the 'why' that's been missing in all my suffering, in all my questioning my survival, in all my hating and despising God for letting me live whilst my friends perished." He paused to stare deep into her eyes, no longer in agony but in love. "_You're it, Éponine._ You _have_ to be."

Éponine was silent for a long time, unaware that a tear had fallen down her cheek. Once she managed to find her voice again, she broke out in a smile, her eyes watery, though brightened.

"And _you're_ my reason."

Enjolras returned her declaration by bringing his arm around her neck. Éponine was the first to move in for a kiss and captured his lips with warmth, easing into him as Enjolras's arm coiled tighter around her, bringing an emotional Éponine to his chest. When their mouths parted, Éponine snuggled into his neck and, for a time, the two simply clung to one another in the middle of the cafe, Enjolras slowly letting go of his searing guilt at long last with faithful Éponine at his side.

Éponine knew his self-reproaching had finally passed when he stopped shaking and his breathing calmed. All the while, he had held her close, wanting her near, and Éponine was quite glad that she had acted on instinct and followed him inside the cafe rather than wait for him to brave the place on his own.

"You all right?" she asked him once she was sure his composure had returned.

Enjolras didn't answer straightaway, but he compressed her to him, which assured her that he was fine before he verbalized so. "Yes," he whispered next to her ear. "Or I think... I hope... I will be."

Éponine nuzzled his neck again before laying a tender kiss upon his cheek. "You will, love. _You will._"

It took several minutes longer to will one another off of the floor. Enjolras took a moment to survey the room for the last time through dry eyes and then allowed his wife to escort him out of the cafe by the hand.

Shutting the door at long last felt eerily final to both, yet necessary. A sense of completion lifted Enjolras's spirits a little, for he decidedly did not look back as they left but pushed ahead onto the streets.

Stepping out of that deserted establishment and into his future was, for Enjolras, surprisingly liberating. As emotionally wrought as the afternoon had begun, it had ended on poignant reflection and a final, promising resolution.

Strolling arm in arm down the street, Enjolras looped a hand through Éponine's and brought it to his lips to kiss appreciatively. "Thank you for bringing me here," he stated quietly and fondly. "I was hesitant, but it was the right course."

"Did it help?" Éponine was quite hopeful that it had, but she desired to hear the words from his own lips.

"Yes, indeed."

"I'm so glad."

"I... I'm not sure if I'll be able to ever fully forgive myself..."

Éponine shook her head. "You made leaps and bounds today, love. I daresay with more time you may. One day at a time."

"Yes..."

They soon reached their carriage, where Tom was awaiting their return, and Enjolras climbed inside after Éponine, choosing not to gaze out the window as before. He would never look upon that painful place ever again.

As the carriage began to move, Éponine presented her pensive husband with another question. "Do you believe?" she inquired with a sweet regard and a small smile. "Truly?"

Enjolras pondered her question for a time, but eventually his lips slowly curved upwards and his eyes, too, glimmered in unison. He nodded to his considerate wife, this time without any hint of the reservations that had held him back on their journey there.

"Yes, my dear." His contemplative face peered out the window at the passersby walking the streets, their garments alternating from poor and desolate to refined and extravagant. Eventually, his eyes fell back on her, the fairest of any woman he had glimpsed out of the window. "Yes, I do believe. You_ are_ my reason."

* * *

"What is this?" Monsieur Gillenormand demanded, eying the lavish dinner table of meats, breads, and colorful pastries with a twinkle of suspicion. "You better not have made a career change on me, Marius. I'm holding a wooden stick and won't hesitate to reach over the lovely Madame here to clonk you on the head!"

Cosette and Éponine both giggled, each seated at the gentleman's side. Marius shook his head with a smirk and eyed Enjolras, amused, though Enjolras merely brought a glass of water to his lips and said nothing.

"I assure you that isn't necessary, Monsieur," Cosette tittered happily, her rosy cheeks glowing against the dramatic candle light displays.

"Then out with it, would you?" Monsieur Gillenormand pointed his dinner fork at his grandson and narrowed his eyes as well. "Or I shall force it out of you, one way or another."

"What happened to the 'I'm an old man' woes?" Marius met the gentleman's threat with a merciless tease.

"I _am_ an old man," he growled back, "but I'm far lighter on my feet than you've ever been, young man; that's for sure!"

"I don't doubt you. That's probably true."

"It _is_ true," Enjolras corrected, his tone and face serious save for his eyes, which only Éponine could decipher were humored and game.

"_Well?_" Monsieur prompted his grandson to speak up, his scrutiny darting between a beaming Marius and granddaughter-in-law. "Out with it!"

Marius casually turned to his wife. "My dear?" he encouraged her to speak and fell silent.

Cosette's taunting smile spread from cheek to cheek. To Éponine, something was slightly altered in her lately. She had had her suspicions, of course, though they hadn't been brought up by her friend at all. Out of respect for Cosette, Éponine hadn't asked, but she did share her impressions with Enjolras in private.

Cosette's eyes scanned every watching eye in the room. Then she braced Marius's hand in hers and called out with a showering glow on her face, "Marius and I are expecting!"

* * *

**A/N #2: Yay! :)**

**Epilogue to come sometime next week. Thank you to all of you who've stuck it out to the (near) end!**


	20. Epilogue

**A/N: Well, we've reached the end! :( I'll save my sappy closing remarks for the end. Enjoy!**

******Disclaimer: _Les Mis___****é**rables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.

* * *

**Epilogue**

_**"Take my love, for love is everlasting"**_  
_**- Les Misérables**_

* * *

**Six Years Later**

The sun beat down on the back of Éponine's neck and she made to dab at the perspiration that broke out on her skin with a handkerchief. It was considerably hot for the end of May—warmer than usual to her recollection—and still, Éponine had planted herself on a familiar bench outside, in the midst of Monsieur Gillenormand's colorful garden. Her neck was bent over the book she held in both hands, her mind immersed in the grand adventures of its hero.

The quiet escape was warranted. Her children would be finished with their tutoring lessons at any moment, and that left Éponine to grab for peaceful moments wherever she could snatch them.

With the afternoon sun starting to cause a strain on her eyes, Éponine paused her reading to stretch her neck and give her eyes a short break. Thinking of her children made her unconsciously rub her hand along her stomach. The emergence of motherhood was already starting to show, even in these early months of pregnancy. A soft smile drew across her mouth and she sighed with happiness, straightening her back when she heard the customary sound of high-pitched laughter suddenly disrupting her tranquility.

Éponine turned her head to the source of the noise and, soon, two small figures came into view, the one trailing after the other in a game of catch. The younger of the two was in the lead—a three-year-old boy with curly, dark locks like his mother, though the spirals in his hair were not her own, only the color. He ran in haste towards her in a frock coat of navy blue and beige trousers. He was barely as tall as the massive rose bushes he passed by and, although his legs were short, he sprinted at a speed his sister couldn't match.

The little girl—a five-year-old beauty with wavy blonde hair—stretched her arms to try to grasp her brother but to no avail. Her pretty pink dress gathered dust and dirt at the bottom as she made to catch him, forgoing the manners of a young lady in her reckless pursuit.

Éponine delighted in the sound of her children's laughter, as well as the rambunctious sight of them trampling over to her, entirely carefree. The boy shot into Éponine's arms and the girl rested at the edge of the bench, the pair of them panting for air.

"Momma, Momma!" the boy breathed excitedly. "Joceline couldn't catch me!"

"I was close!" Joceline huffed and crossed her arms, giving her brother a stern scowl that much resembled her father.

"Yes, you were," Éponine concurred with a wry smile and peered down at her son with a twinkle in her eyes. "And I daresay you'll only get faster as you grow."

The little boy's blue eyes lit up with excitement. "Will I, Momma?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Will I grow tall like Pappa?"

Éponine pressed the boy to her chest, bringing him into a warm hug. "Oh, you most certainly will!"

"What about me?" Joceline asked with a small pout Éponine recognized as her own. She reached out her arm to bring her daughter close and embraced her, too.

"You, too, dearest."

"I don't want to be as tall as Pappa!"

Éponine chuckled. "You won't. You'll probably be as tall as me."

That made Joceline's pout worse. "You're _very_ short, Momma."

Éponine burst into laughter, and the children joined in. "Thank you for the reminder!"

She leaned closer to her daughter and tickled her chin, sending her into squeals of more giggling. After the humorous moment subsided, Éponine's eyes scanned their surroundings curiously.

"Where are Mariette and Rosalie?"

"Still with Madame Page," Joceline explained, weaving her hands behind her back. "They were misbehaving, so she's making them write lines."

"Oh, dear," Éponine tried to suppress her smile. She knew the twins' parents, her dear friends Marius and Cosette, would _not_ be pleased. "Well, I hope you two were on your best behavior?"

"Yes, Momma!" they replied in unison. It was normally the pair of them getting into trouble—usually with each other—during their lessons and not the other way around.

"Momma?" the little boy pressed after a moment. "Where's Pappa? When will he be home?"

"Soon, Gavroche. He had some last minute duties to take care of at the school."

"But it's the weekend!" Joceline and Gavroche whined together, their mouths cast into frowns.

"I know, dearests, but he won't be much longer."

"He promised we would play!" Gavorche insisted, the grimace on his face reminiscent of the young Gavorche Éponine remembered growing up. The rest of him, however, like his sister, was an eclectic mix of both her and Enjolras. He was boyishly handsome, yet fair, with a mischievousness that Éponine shared from her youth. She was about to offer the disappointed boy further words of reassurance when another voice echoed from the edge of the garden by the house.

"Of course we'll play, Gavroche. Do you think I'd go back on my word?"

"_Pappa!_" the children exclaimed and dashed away.

Éponine watched the tiny children scamper over to her husband, who was standing in the open doorway that let a light breeze drift inside the house. He was wearing his finest red coat and black trousers and, as far as Éponine was concerned, cut a fine sight amongst the multicolored, picturesque garden blooms.

Enjolras strolled forward to greet Joceline and Gavroche, and his arms emerged from behind his back to scoop Gavroche first into his arms. The boy laughed spiritedly as his father proceeded to toss him high in the air and then catch him, repeating the motion several times. Joceline looked on happily and tugged at her father's waist coat, pining for his attention. Once he had Gavroche in a secure hold, Enjolras laced an arm around his daughter's shoulder and, together, the three made their way over to Éponine.

"Pappa! Pappa! We _must_ play!" they both demanded, whilst Enjolras gazed back and forth between them.

"Were you good for Madame Page?" he asked, which made Éponine snicker.

It was unfailingly like her husband to project a serious tone when the children still usually managed to get their way with him anyhow. It didn't bother her, however. Rather, she found it quite captivating to watch Enjolras's firm hand so often crumble to their children's demands.

"Yes, Pappa," Joceline answered sweetly.

Gavroche shot Enjolras a devilish smile. "Mariette and Rosalie weren't."

"Oh?"

"They kept fighting over each other's parchment and quills. Madame Page had to separate them and make them sit on opposite sides of the room."

Enjolras smirked. "That sounds rather like _you two_."

"But we were good today, Pappa!" Joceline contended, appeased when Enjolras reached his hand around to teasingly tug her chin.

"I have every confidence in you."

By that point, they had reached Éponine, who took Joceline into her arms on the bench as Enjolras set their son down on the ground. The couple locked eyes on each other, and Enjolras leaned down to greet his wife with a gentle kiss.

"How did things go this morning?" she whispered as he drew away from her, though still with a subtly loving gaze.

"Well enough." He gave a half smile. "We can discuss work later. How are you?"

His eyes glanced from his wife to her stomach and back to her face, all of which Éponine caught, and it made her smile broaden. "Very well, love."

"No sickness?"

"None whatsoever."

"I want a boy, Momma," Gavroche asserted in a serious tone that so matched Enjolras's that she chuckled. The boy looked pleadingly up into his father's face. "I want a brother to play with!"

That prodded Joceline's opposite response. "I want a sister, Pappa! Someone who will play dolls with me!"

The attractive youth shot her brother a glare he didn't miss, and Gavroche matched it by scrunching his nose in disdain. "Dolls are so boring!"

Joceline looked on, affronted. "Are not!"

"Are too!"

"_Are not!_"

"_Are too!_"

"All right, that's enough," Enjolras interrupted their feud, his tone sounding quite grave—that was until he proceeded to pick Gavorche up and dangle him upside down by his legs. The boy hollered with laughter and Joceline's temperament, too, lightened at the sight of her brother suspended helplessly in the air. "Would you like to go to the park or not?"

"_Yes, Pappa! Yes!_" they concurred enthusiastically.

"Then behave yourselves," he commanded, swaying his son a bit to amuse the tot before placing Gavroche carefully back down on the ground. "Go see Claudine about putting together some food for our outing. We'll have a late day picnic of it."

"Oh, that sounds lovely," Éponine agreed, which only excited the children more.

Gavroche and Joceline sped past Enjolras into the house, each trying to outrun the other whilst cackling loud enough to disrupt the entire household. Enjolras merely rolled his eyes and took a seat next to a smiling Éponine, who was contented when he roped an arm around her shoulder. She nestled in close to him and took his free hand in hers.

"You sure we should risk having another one of _those?_" Enjolras goaded, pointing towards the doorway, where the trampling silhouettes of their children disappeared from view.

Éponine tittered close to his face, her breath tickling his ear. "I thought of a couple more names this morning."

Enjolras raised a curious eyebrow. "Oh? Such as?"

"I was thinking Francois if it's a boy or Francine if it's a girl. What do you think?"

Enjolras's eyes brightened at the names, and he determined without further explanation from his wife where she had derived such names. "I approve of either one."

Éponine's glowing smile spread across her cheeks. "Oh, good! I'm so pleased you like them. I daresay they're befitting to us as a family, wouldn't you agree?"

"Indeed. Quite suitable for us."

Both fell silent afterwards, listening intently to the calming wind that lightly ruffled their necks, as well as the welcoming quietude of the quaint place that surrounded them. It was a serenity only to be found in this particular garden, when few moments of alone time could be spared for the married couple with two tumultuous, demanding young children.

Éponine fully leaned into Enjolras and slowly nuzzled the nape of his neck, causing his eyes to flutter and his head turn downward to capture her lips. Éponine found herself opening like a bud, her mouth welcoming Enjolras's tongue to slip inside, bringing her deeper into the passion of the moment. A hand came to rest along her jaw line, just as a hand weaved in between his tight curls to massage his scalp.

His warm, moist lips soon left hers to peck at her cheek, her ear, and along her neck—his movements calculated and controlled, making Éponine's heart flutter with anticipation. It was amazing to her how the man could still garner such a zealous response from her after so many happy years together; and yet, in many ways, it wasn't surprising at all. She loved him deeply and was devoted to Enjolras, just as he was equally dedicated to her. That was all it took for the intoxicating connection between them to blaze on, never lessening or dying out as the years rolled by, bringing them closer and more connected to one another with each passing day.

_You made the right choice, Éponine_, she told herself often, not because she needed reassurance of any kind, for she had no self-doubts about the loving man she had married; but because of the cold remembrance of the countless years she had spent without such returned affections, and how utterly deprived she found the world to be without love.

_Just as Enjolras had once made his way in the world: without love or affections._

He had had a cause worth living (and dying for), but at the end of that rebellion, Éponine wondered, what would Enjolras have found if not for her? Would he have continued to wander the world alone as she surely would have done, though without anywhere or anyone to give his heart's desire to in time?

_Probably_, she determined, more than a tad grateful that that wasn't written in his stars. Instead, it had been _her_.

The two often recalled—in their own quiet ways—that emotional return to the café a year after the fall of the barricade. They reminisced in their minds how far they had come that day, how much they had grown together, and the life-changing conclusion both had drawn from the shared experience: that God, in His mysterious act of mercy, had brought them together to not only help each other heal but to also find everlasting love.

As the two shared a private, romantic kiss on a frequented stone bench in late May, with their turbulent past and any worries or woes pressed to the back of their minds, they were well into their passionate exchange when a male voice—not young but far older—disrupted their solitude, forcing both to break apart and turn towards whoever had stumbled upon their private snogging.

"I believe those two are yours?" Monsieur Gillenormand pointed with a twitch of his bushy mustache towards two beings that came barreling forward from behind him.

Gavroche and Joceline, both laughing hysterically, flew into their parents' arms—Joceline to Enjolras and Gavroche to Éponine. Enjolras quickly appraised their children for any hint of guilt in their flushed faces.

"Were you two disrupting Monsieur Gillenormand's book collection again?" he questioned sternly, knowing the children's tenancy to toss books off the shelves at will or rearrange them out of alphabetical order, mostly to the old man's feigned annoyance.

"It's quite all right," the old man chuckled, far too amused with the children to look angry.

"It's certainly _not_ all right. I do apologize if they were disturbing you," Éponine tried to apologize, but Monsieur Gillenormand waved her concerns away.

"Come now, they're only children."

"We told them to see Claudine about fetching food for a picnic, but it seems that they had other ideas in mind?"

Éponine gave them both a serious look over, as did Enjolras, before he brought Joceline into his arms with a kiss to her forehead. She placed her head underneath his chin and snuggled into her father's tight embrace.

"A picnic?" Monsieur Gillenormand's brow furrowed. "Well, in that case, might we all go? Marius and Cosette are collecting the children now as we speak. Perhaps we could make a real outing of it, all of us?"

The children scooted out of their parents' grasps to jump up and down, overtly satisfied with such a plan. Éponine and Enjolras got to their feet and linked hands, just as Marius and Cosette appeared in the garden with their twin girls, Mariette and Rosalie.

Both had long, curly blonde hair that fell to their shoulders with fetching blue eyes like their mother. The faint freckles that dotted their faces, however, were entirely Marius's, as were their button noses. Mariette wore an ocean blue dress, whilst Rosalie was decked in purple. They immediately waved to Joceline and Gavroche and came tromping over to them, proceeding to talk in excited whispers about their impending picnic in the park.

"Poor Madame Page," Cosette moaned once they reached the other adults. "She really has her hands full. Do you think we've overwhelmed her?"

Marius and Éponine snickered, and Enjolras arched his eyebrows. "I believe that's an understatement," he issued matter-of-factly.

"It looks like we're all going for a late picnic this afternoon." Éponine smiled brightly. "Care to join us? You and the girls?"

"Of course!" Marius agreed quickly; he was nudged in the side by his wife, who eyed him humorously.

"Even though our girls were quite disruptive during Madame Page's lesson today?"

Marius turned to Enjolras, as though in search of some manly verbal support. "They're children! What does she expect? For them to get along every single moment of every day?"

"Such a softie," Cosette teased him lightly.

"So is this one," Éponine affirmed with a toss of her head in Enjolras's direction. Everyone laughed with the exception of Enjolras, though the gentleness in his eyes was something to be deciphered easily enough.

"If you're going to pick on us," Marius goaded further, "Enjolras and I will gladly stay put and let you go on to your picnic alone with all four children."

Monsieur Gillenormand gave a mocked look of insult. "And what about your grandfather, Marius?"

"What? They like _you_, Grandfather, better than us anyway! No one has the guts to insult you."

"No one would dare," Cosette added, sensing the warmness behind Monsieur Gillenormand's expression. He mumbled something under his breath and turned away from the group, waltzing over to the children instead, who had congregated in a circle with their heads huddled together.

* * *

The afternoon picnic turned into an evening affair, but the adults were well prepared for it thanks to all the stocked food and drinks compiled by Claudine, the maid. The children skipped about and played games for hours, their energy never letting up. Enjolras and Éponine eventually moseyed over beneath a tree to be alone for a time—far enough away where they wouldn't be overheard but not too far that they couldn't keep an eye on their children.

Enjolras settled his back against the tree with his wife situated comfortably against him. For a long while, they sat in silence, simply observing Joceline's and Gravroche's playful antics—capering about and getting along, for the most part. Éponine tittered softly a couple times whilst watching them, and Enjolras's arms came to fasten themselves around her. Before long, a few gentle nudges to the side of her face and a peck here or there against her exposed skin had Éponine purring with contentment.

"I hope the children go down early tonight," Enjolras said. "They _should_ be tired out from so much running."

Éponine snickered and arched her neck to look up at her husband, giving him a seductive smirk. "And why's that?" she prodded, fully aware of what he was insinuating.

"I intend to have you all to myself for an evening, preferably _without_ little faces popping into our room in the middle of the night."

Éponine wholeheartedly laughed at the reminder. Gavroche hadn't slept through the night in ages and usually always ended up in their room at some point or another, not only disrupting their sleep patterns but other endeavors as well. Last time, Enjolras had barely managed to roll off of Éponine before Gavroche jumped onto the bed, giving his father a funny look that made Enjolras squirm under the boy's scrutiny. No one else could do that, but his own children certainly could, especially in a situation like _that._

"Pappa," the boy mumbled, still half asleep, "what were you doing to Momma?"

"Nothing," Enjolras answered hastily; Éponine, meanwhile, hoisted the covers up to her face to bite back her giggling.

"Were you wrestling, Pappa?" Gravroche asked, pressing Enjolras for answers all the way back to his bedroom. "You looked like you and Momma were wrestling. Can I wrestle with you tomorrow night?"

"_You need to go to back to bed, Gavroche._" Enjolras pushed the boy ahead of him, grateful for the darkness so that his son couldn't decipher his humiliated blush, nor the lingering erection through the night shirt that fell to his thighs. "The night is not for play. It's for rest."

"But you and Momma were playing just now!" he whined, as Enjolras did his best not to turn redder in the face.

"We were _not_ playing, son!"

"Then what were you doing on top of Momma, Pappa?" A few minutes later, the question came round again, much to Enjolras's mounting frustration. "Pappa? Why won't you answer me? Pappa?"

Now, as the couple lay comfortably together beneath the shade, both chuckled unanimously at what the night might hold in store for them. If they were lucky, their son might actually sleep the whole night. On the other hand, he might interrupt their romp for wanting to play himself, and hound his father for the answers he hadn't yet received.

Enjolras's hand brushed Éponine's stomach, the first signs of her baby bump peering through her dress. Her own hand came to rest on top of his, holding it firmly in place.

"Imagine another curly-haired boy like Gavroche galloping about the house."

The mental picture her comment conjured made them both chortle. "Or it could be another girl as charming, yet detrimental, as Joceline and her mother," Enjolras suggested.

Éponine shook her head, amused. "It's hard to say..."

"Well, it's still early."

"You're excited, aren't you?"

Enjolras blinked. Her question was underlined by a false sense of security; he could sense it. He wove his arms tighter around her, keeping a hand placed on her swelling stomach.

"Of course I am. Are you?"

"Yes. Very much."

"Then there's nothing to worry about."

"Did you ever think..." Her voice trailed off and was replaced by the echo of childlike laughter coming from several feet away, where all four children continued to play.

"Do I wish what, my dear?" Enjolras whispered into her ear, making her spine tingle.

"This is what you want, isn't it?"

Enjolras's eyebrows angled in confusion. "What?"

Éponine craned her neck back to fully take in his contorted expression. "We—_I'm_, rather—not holding you back?"

"Of course you aren't." Enjolras stared hard, unable to grasp her meaning. "Éponine, where is all this uncertainty coming from?"

"It isn't uncertainty. I suppose, with the baby coming, I've been thinking a lot about... The past. I didn't mean to insult you."

"You haven't; only, you sound unsure."

Éponine's calming smile returned, which put his mind more at ease. "Well, I'm not, love. It was only questions."

"I see." Slowly, a smile mapped its way across his mouth. "You fear I may reenter politics now that we have a family, is that it?"

"No!"

Enjolras snorted. "Well, you needn't worry. I've told you before, Éponine: my commitments have changed. I'm still the same man, but I'll never be so reckless with my life or anyone else's again."

Éponine was a little crushed by that sentiment, though she understood wholeheartedly where it stemmed from. The fingers interlocked with his squeezed gently.

"You're doing great things, you know—with the school, the children, _us..._"

Enjolras met her tender reflection with a softer smile, though she couldn't see it as she had turned around to watch the children. "As are you, my dear."

"I know. We both are."

Sensing where her thoughts were wandering, Enjolras delicately pecked her cheek before murmuring contentedly into her ear, "_You're still my reason_," which made Éponine's breath stall.

She compressed his hand a second time and peered up into his face that conveyed nothing but affection and peace, and her smile became as light and fulfilling to him as his expression was to her. She reached up to brush the back of her hand along his jaw line, savoring this intimate moment between the two of them.

"_And you're still mine._"

* * *

_**~ Fin ~**_

**A/N #2: _Thank you so much to the E/É community for being so welcoming to me as a writer!_ Your feedback, rec's, and general enthusiasm for this little story of mine carried it through to its conclusion more than you could possibly know. :) I've been overwhelmed and truly touched by your responses, and it has been so encouraging to my Muse to keep going and not give up. _I sincerely thank you for that!_**

**I hope this story will encourage more shippers who haven't read it yet to check it out in the future; or perhaps inspire a reread from a couple of you who've seen it through to its conclusion? After all, that's the only way that stories survive: through _you_, the readers! **

**At the moment, I have no future E/É stories brewing on the horizon. However, I'll be continuing to write, so, if you've enjoyed this piece, I encourage you to add me to your Author Alerts and to check out my other stories. I welcome all feedback (and, really, it would just be lovely to hear from you guys again.) :) **

_**Until next time!**_


End file.
